Sick In My Double-Wide

The following information has been derived from my own imagination.

I expect you the reader to be critical and provide input to me, an individual seeking a hobby in writing fiction.

The beginning section of this story is as follows:

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The barn is poor but it has a soul; no walls, or innerds. It has seen brighter days. The young man with dusty blond hair stands next to the building confused, in the purest form. Now that his father has past onto his reward, he is unable to rebuild the structure.

As he stares at the barn - light pours through the building and onto his young face.

He thinks in his mind, "There is so much Television".

Realization has been spawned, "It is time for him to become a man but he is certain that he is neither trained in a vocation or in love".

Ambition is also lacking in his small heart.

He states loudly while facing toward the rolling crick, "Jesus, what the hell am I going to do".

In his mind, he understands exactly what the next step will be. For the first time in a week there is certainty in his life.

I watch as he crosses the field like a man with spiritual power and discipline. He pulls his shoulders forward and throws his head in a backward motion. The average fighter would likely fear the image of this young man as he trots towards his shelter, a small yellow manufactured home (more commonly known as a double-wide).

The door swings wide open and the autumn wind rushes into the home.

"I know exactly what I am going to do", he voices to himself in a commanding way.

His body is thrusted into the gray recliner - the remote control is rapidly taken control of - and the sports channel is heard throughout the holler.

Amen