Okay, so I had to write this little story for a big grade in English. Feedback maybe?
(P.S. The Jun thing is near the end, Emma xDD ))
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“Mrrph…” Isabelle groaned, stumbling down the cold stone steps of her new family’s cabin. She came to a complete stop as she saw her adopted mother look up at her with red eyes and wet cheeks. Her teary-eyed mother limply pushed an envelope across the table. “What’s thi-“ She cut herself off as soon as she saw the header. It was from the Italian parliament.
“ Mister and Misses Moretti,
It brings me great sorrow to inform you, but the parliament is repossessing your property. You see, a well-known day spa incorporation is offering up a great deal of money for your homestead, and we’re not refusing.
You’ve got two weeks,
Giulio Andriotti, Prime Minister”
Isabelle let the ornate letter flutter to the floor, a look of utter disbelief scrawled across her face. Her father chose this moment to return with her two five-year old stepsisters.
“I suppose you’ve heard.” He sighed, his face solemn.
“They can’t do that. It’s unethical.” Isabelle cried, tears welling up in her eyes.
She hadn’t grown up the tiny backwoods cabin, but she’d spent the last couple years of her life in it. The sheer simplicity of the place made it impossible to not want to keep it standing.
“They can, they run the country. Believe me, we’re not okay with it either.” He replied.
“Well, I’m not taking this without a fight.” Isabelle called back as she thundered up the steps to her bedroom. She seized a hairbrush and quickly tied back her long, red hair with a blue-gray ribbon. She pulled on a blue-gray Victorian lace dress, and stuffed several other items of clothing into a small valise and raced back downstairs.
“Dad, drive me to the train station, I’ve got a battle to win.”
Isabelle wound up buying an open-ended ticket to Rome, in hopes of filing a lawsuit against the opposing industry. Her father had left her at the train station in Florence with two thousand lira, just enough for a few days in Rome and necessary meals. Upon boarding the train, she noticed a few things. The seats were mahogany leather; so smooth it looked like ironed satin. Just the thought of sitting in that chair for four hours was soothing. Isabelle was snapped from her trance as the train lurched forward, desperate to reach it’s destination.
Isabelle departed from the train station, feeling homesick already. Holding back tears, she tugged at strands of her crimson hair and took in the sights of the unfamiliar city. Victorian style buildings mingled with modern ones lined the streets, block after block. Head held high, Isabelle strutted down the exotic streets with the hope of finding somewhere decent to stay the night.
Five miles from the train station, Isabelle decided on a temp-home. It was a quaint little bed and breakfast with a tattered roof and maybe fifteen rooms or so. The room she wound up renting was equivalent to her bedroom back in Florence. A bulky mattress with linen sheets and floral-patterned quilt, a single dark-wood vanity, a set of dresser drawers, and diminutive closet lined the edges of the room. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.” She muttered, tossing her bag off to the side.
Early the next morning, Isabelle ambled over to the local law firm, which so happened to look quite similar to the inn she was taking up residence in. Inside, however, was quite different. It was a simple room. Hardwood floors, creamy white wallpaper, and a single desk populated the room, aside from two or three solid oak chairs. Isabelle, wrinkled lace dress and all, sauntered up to the desk, looked the secretary in the eye, and spoke her mind.
“I want to file a lawsuit against the Cavelieri Hilton.”
The woman gasped. “A-as you wish Madame.” The woman forked over the proper paperwork.
‘And now it’s hour after hour of filling out lengthy documents.’ She thought, sighing heavily. And so she sat, skimming over each piece of parchment and scribbling her name on each and every line. Maybe an hour and a half later, Isabelle came to the final sheet, signed the very last line, and cheered silently, as she’d finished the tedious task. She returned the bulky stack of papers to the receptionist, who still looked pale from her request. Isabelle scampered off to her temporary home, anxious for a good night’s sleep.
The very next morning, Isabelle was stirred awake by a phone call, from a phone she didn’t even know was in the room. “What?” Isabelle spat, irritated at he early call.
“Ms. Giuliani, I presume?” answered an unfamiliar voice on the other end. “I am the CEO of the Cavelieri Hilton. May I ask why you are suing us for a quarter of a million lira?”
“You know very well why. You’re demolishing the home of Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Morreti in Florence. I am their adopted daughter and refuse to allow it.” Isabelle mumbled through clenched teeth, her voice cold and harsh. There was no way she would let them destroy it.
“I think we can reach an agreement in this situation, Miss Giuliani.” The voice chirped, calm as could be. “You call off the lawsuit, and we leave the cabin standing. Agreed?”
“A-agreed. But if you break this verbal contract, I’ll fly you to the sun with my fist, and I’m sure it will be marvelously satisfying.” Isabelle agreed, thinking ‘Can it really be that easy?”
“As you wish, goodbye Miss Giuliani.” The conversation ended there.
Isabelle jumped for joy, dancing crazily around her room before packing her bags and checking out of the inn. She had to catch the next train back to Florence or she’d explode. She couldn’t wait to share the wonderful news
