For all teenagers. What do you think of my writing?

Inside a narrow lane that stood between to buildings, there lived a boy called Omar and his parents. One evening, after returning from school Omar went into the supermarket and bought his mother some milk and yogurt. But as he was paying, he found that he only had five pounds and he was supposed to pay seven pounds.

“Sorry,” he said, as he placed the yogurt back on the shelf and headed out of the shop.

There was no furniture at the room where they lived, just a silk rug, standing on it a short, wooden table. In front of the table, there was a square hole in the wall, inside there was a smaller room that belonged to Omar’s parents.

“Hello Mother, breakfast is here,” Omar said, as helped his mother to sit straight in her bed.

His mother, Amina, had hazel eyes under which black circles arched upwards. Her nose was small, with a big zit at the edge. As she sat up, she adjusted her white, sweaty shirt to cover her chest.

“How much did you pay,” she asked in an airy, weak tone.

“Five pounds,” Omar said, “and I had to return the yogurt.”

His mother nodded and drank at the milk, directly from the plastic sack.

“I don’t know how we’ll make it to the end of the week; your father said he’ll find a new job.”

“What? Will we leave the building, here?”

“No, he’ll find a job besides the building.”

Omar was relieved. He could not leave the lane where he spent his years as a child. He was happy in it.

Next morning, his father returned from visiting his relatives at the farm. When it was time to lunch, he dropped many apples at the floor from his sack and Omar clutched at one and bit deep into it. He called his mother telling her that father brought apples, but she did not reply. He went into her room with an apple for her at his hand.

He found her sitting up in her bed, her head tilting over the pillow, her lips parting and her eyes closed.

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