Okay, before you read anything, I'd like to say something. This is kind of a English assignment. It's an autobiographical excerpt. And it is meant to be about adolescence, with all the teenager discourse and the such. The first one is my original, with hardly any changes. The second part (under the ***) is this changed to suit the criteria. Can I have your judgement on which one is better in your opinion.  

Smiling Through Tears 

They were fighting again. Yelling, screaming, throwing words at each other until their throats were hoarse and dry. 

A torrent of popular cusses escaped their mouths, in strings of inconceivable variety, including several words I dare not even mention on paper. 

Thankfully, it’s all dulled to an insignificant blur caused by both the closed door to my room and the music blasting from the speakers of my laptop. 

This time it wasn’t my fault. Actually, I’ve come to the realisation that it is never my fault. Never ever.  

And yet, they still argued. 

And yet, I still felt. 

Tears scratched at the corner of my eyes begging to be free and I forced them back. This wasn’t my fault – therefore I should feel no guilt. 

More door-and-music muffled shouts pierced my ears. 

I couldn’t stand it anymore; I knew they weren’t going to stop any time soon from previous experience. 

I crept from my bed, small steps, soft footfalls, and slowly approached my door. Hesitantly, I reached a hand forward, twisted the broken handle three times, inhaled one large breath deeply - gathering courage - and pulled. 

The door creaked loudly as it opened and I quickly exited my room - braving the battle of tongues and fleeing directly through the middle of their carnage. 

Like the catalyst in a science experiment, I too, sped up the reaction and helped create more heat. 

With a shout of swear-words, she threw the water bottle to the floor, spilling the fluid haphazardly all over the orange tiles and momentarily, in the midst of taking this in and at the back of my mind, I entertained the thought that it would’ve been blood had this been a true warriors’ duel. 

Not my fault, I reminded myself repetitively, like a mantra to calm myself, not my fault. 

Chairs and other objects took flight, starting their momentum from the hands of one maddened, reddened and puffy eyed female battler aiming rather inaccurately at her male assailant.  

I ducked, dodged, weaved and escaped their war field, my heart pumping and tears on the brink of falling. 

The screen door loomed only steps away and in a last boost of hope, after digging deep within for the last very bit, I sprinted for it. Closer, ever closer, I drew. 

My right hand instinctively rose and snapped open the lock. Under my guidance, the door slid fluidly to the side and I slipped through, turning on my foot and slamming it shut. I felt their shocked gazes following me out into the middle of our backyard; their stares, like little pinpricks of numbness in my back. 

I hadn’t caused them to fight like this; it wasn’t a problem that I, personally, had laid on them. 

Not my fault, still echoed around my head as I stopped running and paused to take a, physical as well as a emotional, breather. 

Time seemed to slow, as I gazed at the night sky as if, perhaps, the stars had the answers to my unanswerable questions. I froze as I stared up; the beauty of it all stealing my breath and dazzling me to the brink of insanity and nearly over topping it. 

It was perfectly purple; a pure and wonderful blanket with small speckles of diamond dust sprinkled evenly about, just marring the flawlessness, smothering the sky in untainted beauty. 

Then the moon drew my eyes; whole, white, elegant - an immensely stark contrast to the smooth purple, causing little dots to dance in my vision. My eyes widened more, and once again they were drawn to something else resting above me; it was surrounding the moon and it caused me to grin foolishly in fascinated amazement. 

A rainbow circled pillow-soft Luna. 

A miracle, I thought, a dream, still breathless and in awe, as the sight shook my emotions. 

It was here, that I stood stock-still, in the middle of the backyard in my kitten-printed pyjamas, absorbed by the splendour. It was here, where I let my shameless tears spill down my cheeks and plop soundlessly to the ground. 

The thing that occurred to me then, is that even when there seems to be no place left to run, no one who understands you or even if nothing you do seems to be going right, surprises by the least suspected things are like short bursts of absolute, clear, all-knowing wisdom. 

It was here that I stood ‘til midnight. 

Right here. 

Smiling through tears. 

It wasn’t my fault. 

*** 

Simply Smiling Through Tears 

“Things change.” 

You know what? 

I’m sick of it; sick of that stupid sentence, of people telling me this and not what the “things” are. 

Why do things change? 

I’m not just asking you; anyone! Can anyone tell me? And don’t give me crap and bullshit like, “If things didn’t change, we wouldn’t grow,” or “Things can’t get better if they don’t change.” 

I didn’t want anything to change. 

I wanted to stay wrapped in that soft cocoon of childhood with a whole family. Not this irregular fraction that I had left - that I had to live with. 

Change is . . . unfair. 

Growing up – 

Fair: having a family - people to talk to.  

Unfair: feeling like crying when you hope to see two, but only get one and occasionally a false double. 

It’s retarded. Gay. 

Why does everything change? 

Happy with my blog, I clicked the submit button. Rants like this always led to horribly spelt, lol-worthy replies. 

Suddenly, a noise broke the sound barrier of “U and Ur Hand” which was booming from my laptop’s speakers full bolt. 

Curious, I pressed mute and listened closer. 

They were fighting again. Yelling, screaming, throwing words at each other until their throats were hoarse and dry.  

A torrent of interesting cusses escaped their mouths in crazy sentences, with quite a few words I’m not game to mention. 

Thank god it was muffled by my door, making it a fuzzy sound. 

This time it wasn’t my fault; it couldn’t have been. I had been in here since I got home. I’ve realised lately, that it’s never-ever been my fault.  

Yet, they argued. 

And, I still felt. 

I blinked back tears, this wasn’t my fault – I shouldn’t feel bad about it.  

Should I? 

I heard more stifled shouts. I couldn’t stand it. They weren’t going to stop soon, I knew from previous experience. 

I crept, hopefully as quiet as a mouse and approached my door. After reaching forward a loud shout rang out and I jolted backward, surprised. I tried again, this time managing not to jump the gun.  

Twisting the stupid handle three and three quarters, I inhaled deeply – trying to get rid of idiotic thoughts - and pulled.  

The door creaked opened and I ran - braving the battle of words and going straight through the heart of their skirmish. 

Like the catalyst in a science experiment, I too, sped up the reaction and helped create more heat. 

With a shout of swear-words, she lobbed the water-bottle to the floor, spilling the fluid all over the orange tiles.  

In between running like hell and watching, something at the back of my mind realised, that if this had this been a real warriors’ stand-off, that would’ve been blood. 

Most likely money had started this colourful conversation. 

Not my fault, I repeated; like counting to ten when angry, it calmed me. 

Chairs and objects took flight, beginning momentum from the hands of one mad, red and puffy eyed female battler aiming rather badly at her male assailant.  

I ducked, dodged, weaved and escaped their war field, still feeling bad. 

The screen-door loomed only steps away and in a boosted effort, after digging for the last of my energy, I sprinted for it. 

My right hand rose (I can open these with my eyes closed) and snapped open the lock. The door slid over and I slipped through. Spinning around, I slammed it shut.  

Their shocked gazes followed me, out into our backyard, feeling like pinpricks of numbness.  

Not my fault. I paused to take a breather. 

Time definitely slowed as I gazed at the night sky, like some astronomic loon, as if the stars had the answers to my questions. I froze as I stared up; the beauty stealing my breath. 

It was awesomely purple; like some wonderful cotton blanket with small parts of star-dust thread woven in, covering the sky in a unique display. 

The moon drew my eyes; envyingly whole – so contrast against the sky that it caused dots to dance in my vision. My eyes widened as they were drawn to something else surrounding the moon, which made me grin like a fool. 

A rainbow circled pillow-soft Luna. 

A miracle, I thought as the sight caused my feelings to let loose. 

It was here, that I stood stock-still, in our backyard wearing kitten-printed pyjamas, awed by this once in a lifetime moment. It was here, where shameless tears spilled down my cheeks and plopped soundlessly to the ground. 

The thing that hit me here is that even when there seems to be nothing left, or maybe something else kinda like that, surprises by the weirdest things are like . . . short bursts of wonderful, clear, valuable wisdom. 

It was here that I stood ‘til midnight. 

Right here. 

Smiling through tears. 

It wasn’t my fault. 

When I went back inside I noticed the collateral; chairs here, clothes there and broken cups shattered everywhere.  

My tears were gone.  

Keeping the moon in thought, I strode into my room. Unmuting the music, I listened as it rang deafeningly in my ears. I clicked the Window’s refresh button and watched as replies loaded up from my agonisingly slow connection. The first read: 

“theirs noe reazon y fing’s chnge. chnge iz . . . jst chnge. U deel wif it oar u dnt. itz ae pritee simple fing.” 

Laughter burst from me - surprising myself. 

Technically, the majority was right. 

But, simple? 

Ha.