A New Year's Walk

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                New Year, New me, that’s what most people would say on January first, on every New Year, and despite this, they don’t really change.

                Change is hard, and, let’s just say there was some, chain of events that, in a way, motivated me to change, so here I’ am, at 5 AM, getting up. That’s not something someone like me would do.

                And by me, I meant Nathan Kinsley, Senior High School student, 17 years old, average height for my average age of my year level, 5 foot seven inches, pretty light though.

                So as earlier stated, it was five in the morning, the celebrations have died down, most people would sleep or get some rest at this point, but I had something in mind.

                My room was a cruel mess, not as bad as one would think, it was still kept in order, but everything was a bit cluttered, too much paper on my desk, my typewriter’s out of ink, and the corkboard next to my PC was entirely covered in sticky notes, reminding me of exams and projects due weeks ago, which has since been passed and returned.

                My room was situated above our garage, and thus, I had my own bathroom, it was a long story, so I’d rather not. I took a quick shower, cold, I preferred it that way, a few minutes was enough and I got dressed.

                Plain gray shirt, or grey as some would spell it, and some cargo pants, nice and loose, maximum comfort is my goal.

                Where I live, Five AM in January is cold, alas, despite the huge amount of jackets and hoodies I have, they are all in my ‘Too dirty to wear’ hamper, I should take care of that. So I open the only door to my room and walk into the hall.

                Yellow walls and wooden floor, same old house I have lived in for my whole life, barring staying at a relative’s house occasionally, all of my nights I’ve slept here.

There were two doors on the second floor hallway. I walked past the first Mahogany door, this was my parent’s room, and so I sneaked on by, avoiding that one spot where it always creaks.

The other door was my sister’s, closed, yet I still heard her snoring. I don’t blame her, her job has a weird and irregular schedule, and she deserves every single minute of sleep she can have.

Anyway, I walk down the staircase leading to the first floor hallway. The rather tacky, but comfortable furniture that was in the living room provided a sorry sight, a bit tattered, but hey, some memories of mine happened there, and they were good.

I maneuver around said furniture, there were still some bowls and stuff on the coffee table, but I let it be, and made my way to the door.

The coat rack held my grayish navy blue windbreaker, nice and hung among the other coats and jackets of my family. I didn’t take the door, despite the fact that the front door is right there, the smallest push makes it creak. Medieval Security System or so my dad calls it.

 I pick it up, put it on and went back up into my room.

I grab my phone and my keys from the messy desk, both of which were found under the mounds of unfinished prose.

Looking around the ever so familiar room, to see if I have forgotten anything, finding nothing, I glance at the clock on the wall, Five Fifteen it said, I tuck my phone into my pocket and my keys on the other. Picking up and putting on my watch

I turn to the corner of my room, and walk to the small trunk in which I keep miscellaneous things and push it a bit, revealing a small hatch that leads to the garage.

I lift it open, and I see through the darkness, the faint silhouette of a spiral staircase, made of iron, cold and sturdy. Cautiously putting one foot into the dark, hitting something solid, I grope around for the handrail. Finding it, I continue downwards.

The garage was completely black, nothing was visible, finding the light switch, I flip it and the light bulb flashes to life and the sudden change in brightness almost blinds my weary eyes.

It was a bit messy in the garage; my dad’s car was parked in there along with my sister’s bike. On the side was a work table, on the wall it was adjacent to was holes which could have various racks and holders inserted.

The tools my dad uses occasionally were sprawled on the work table, along with a half finished chair which he was repairing.

However, I notice our dog, Foil, sleeping near the door. I signaled for him to keep quiet, and true to my family’s words that he was as lazy as me, simply went back to sleep. I opened the door and walked over Foil. I almost stepped on his tail too.

Foil turned his head, looked at me and went back to sleep. The little Border collie was always like that, always relaxed and sleeping, although he had bouts of hyperactivity, it kind of suited me.

Anyway, I walk out into the cement path that separates the garden from the garage, and started walking. There were steady streams of cool air that made me glad I took my coat.

After a few minutes worth of walking, when I reach my destination, the start of Fisher Trail, right along Fisher Creek. The name came from the fact that it’s full of fish, and thus, fishermen back in the day.

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