Antagonist Free Write

About This Author

Guten tag! My name is Jessica and I'm 19 years old. I obviously love to write; I have been writing since I was six years old, but I became an avid writer in sixth grade. I also love listening to music and studying history. I am obsessed with Civil War, World War II, Russian, Romanov, German, and Norweigan history. I listen to mostly metal, some country, and grunge.

Antagonist Free Write

One of the antagonists is the city of Detroit, MI... however, I'm also thinking that it's the protagonist vs. herself.

This weekend marks the 120th celebration of Labor Day,” I heard some radio announce in the background. Here I was standing in a non-distinct section of Detroit looking at the abandoned houses. Usually my Labor Day was filled with Bar-B-Que, drinking beer, and swimming. I always loved the time off I had for Labor Day—a long weekend to myself and traveling down South with dad. This was my second Labor Day without him and although the first Labor Day without him wasn't a picnic, at least I wasn't homeless in a city far from "home."

But, here I was standing in some section that I lost count of trying to find a home. I was laid off from my publishing job six months ago and I was evicted from my apartment in Roseville. “Please,” I begged my landlord as tears rolled down my cheek. “Sorry, Anne, but there are paying customers who need a home!”

"Sorry, no vacancies," the male's voice said.

"But, according to the sign, you do!" I replied.

"Sorry, we have no vacancies," the male's voice on the other end screamed as he slammed down the phone.

Other apartment places weren't sympathetic to jobless and homeless young females. Families came first.

This Labor Day as the rest of America celebrates the 120th anniversary of Labor Day, I look into the home of an abandoned house—despite the desperation of trying to avoid being a squatter, it is the will of some higher power that I gave up on years ago; I am now embracing being like a lot of the homeless across America.

“DO NOT BUY THIS HOUSE, OR I WILL BURN IT DOWN,” the sign that hung on a foggy window read. My heart skips a beat—I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die a fiery death, but the house is pretty and it has a 1940s cottage feel to it. It’s perfect and it’s hard to believe it has been abandoned, much like the rest of this neighborhood.

The door creaks and I step inside. It smells moldy, but I will live. I am a survivor. My life as I know it now can begin. “Carpe Diem!” I say to myself and close the door.

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