A house made of books

"It  began to rain.I
bought an umbrella.Many years ago I would prefer to run in the rain instead of
spending the pocket money.Perhaps our father wouldn’t give us money for a
while.He was very concentrated  on his mission."
Rachel wants to remember something,someone,a moment that  can connect her with this road.She walked in
that way. In her childhood she used to pass through the town.They used to
donate their father’s books. As tales that begin with a "Once upon a time", memory indicate a familiar story.
Passers in the street weren’t polite.Sometimes they have
refused our gifts.I used to dislike our way of life.I felt ashamed of my
father.I know.It’s not his fault. He had an enourmous desire to change his way
of life.He wanted to be rich and famous but for him the game was always over.We
were obligated to spend all the day out in the streets.
Lea was very happy for
being helpful.She was younger than me.Obviously,she was kinder and more
innocent than me.She used to tell to her friends that we had a house made of
books.She knew the story of the house made of chocolate that’s why she was so
proud of our father.She believed that she was living a fairytale.It was good
for her.
Now,I think that she was in the right point of view.We had a house made
of books.There were books near the sofa.There were books under the dinner
table.In the garden,in the bathroom too.We were surrounded by our father’s
written work.We waked up with books,we fell asleep with books. There were books
under our beds .We didn’t need to read them.Those books were part of us.
He wasn’t successful.He used to buy his own books.He
believed his own lie. We convinced ourselves that our father’s books were
bought from strangers.