Being His
This is her first foot into reality, paying bills, earning money.
The bell rings and I look down at my watch. Dot eight. "The kids must be here." I say and look at the door. It was closed and we were instructed to open the door after a knock. I don't understand why. As told, there is a knock on the door and I move up from the middle air on which my butt was resting because the seat was just too small. I turn the knob, and am about to open the door, when a union of shouts hits my ears, forcing me to cup them, leaving the door in the process. I regret my decision immediately, as the door throws open, almost at the verge of breaking and a wave of something small, living and in plenty pushes me
Bab Populer