late english assignment = quickwrite quality

A soft wind danced through the evergreen thickets of pine trees as clouds slowly converged together. The faint chirping of birds intermittently crescendo and fade away as the occasional car rumbles through the small suburban side street. The sky ultimately becomes overcast with ominous grey clouds as the pitter-patter of rain begins to increase—just another average Seattle day.

In the small suburb lay rows of modest homes in dull colors, no larger than two stories tall and four windows wide. In one off-white house, no better or worse than the others, resided the Fishers. The interior of their home is no more special than the exterior. Austere white walls, sparsely decorated with the occasional framed photo, surround small living spaces, with not much more than basic wooden antique furniture and piles of old bank transcripts. The smell of mothballs permeates the dusty air as one makes way through the musty, confined halls.

The couple living there was of relatively old age, not too old to lose self-reliance, but just a bit too old to relive their youthful energy. Sarah Fisher, of petite stature with dreary green eyes and long curly brunette hair, follows her daily schedule of waking up, feeding her cats, and walking in circles around her neighborhood with her mug of earl grey—which she rarely cares about, even if it goes cold. Her husband, Michael Fisher, who resembles the average post-middle aged man, with a scruffy graying beard and a thin layer of silver-black hair on his head, also lives his life by a monotonous routine. After a brief breakfast, he drives to work in an outdated BMW. After a day in his cubicle, he drives home, sits down at the rough, worn out oak dining table with his wife. They do not talk much as the aromas of a simple meatloaf fill the room. Only two chairs surround their table, since company never arrives.

The Fisher’s live a plain, apathetic life. They do not seem to mind, however, although they may not be aware of their indifference in their pedestrian daily routines. In the modest off-white house, lining a dark asphalt two-lane road under cumulonimbus skies, lived the Fishers. They lived a simple, linear life—but they were content.

Night, world.