I woke up early that fateful morning... I was excited. Today I was going to do it! I started my mountain at about the size of a small cup. But slowly, as the morning wore on, it grew. By the time lunch was over, it was the size of a crock-pot, maybe bigger. I cared for my mountain. I sang to it. I talked with it. I sat in front of it for endless hours, just looking at it. I ate dinner hurriedly, and rushed back to its side. By now it was almost a mature mountain. Tall, proud, and beautiful. At bedtime, I smiled. I had grown the perfect mountain in my own house! On my way to bed I said goodnight to my parents.
But before I could escape my dad said, "You still have to do the dishes John," and with a defeated sigh I trudged back to the kitchen to dismantle my mountain.
If you're critiquing, the goal of the story is that "John" has been trying to escape washing the dishes for the day. I'm not particularly pleased with how I revealed that the mountain is actually dishes but I can't think of a better way to do it. Are the hints during the story too much? I thought of this because I got up this morning to see my sister hadn't washed the dishes and we had a huge mountain in the sink now. Thanks for reading,
Nate
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