It was one of our last nights in the red roof house. My dad had finally gotten a break from work and took my mom out to dinner. We were left with one of our neighbor's eldest daughters. She was a witch. Her face held a cold, cruel stare and her eyes were as close to neon green as imaginable. Her hair was a raggedy black color and her nose was long and pointed. She sauntered with unrivaled confidence and intimidation, sporting black jeans and a harsh purple turtleneck. There was no comfort in her glare and we tried our best to ignore her. When we got overly loud, she looked our way and, suddenly, we couldn't find the courage to make a sound. When our parents got home, we looked to them with sheer relief. Then reality hit. The boxes lining our rooms were going to be packed into moving vans the next morning. I couldn't help but feel overwhelming sadness to leave our red roof home behind. I couldn't think of anywhere else to rest my head. We had to leave behind items that didn't fit in the boxes, like two giant teddy bears that used to occupy my room. I always wondered where they went after I placed them gingerly on my bare floor. My closest friend was a dark haired girl with striking grey eyes. On my final day of school, she gave me a Pocahontas book as a token of our friendship. I clutched onto it during the entire three hour drive to our new home.
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