A Writing Sample is a page of whatever. So I just wrote for this one. That's why there is no ending...or beginning. Enjoy:
He walked off with my ticket, and I felt like I had just given away my last piece of home. I sat back in my seat and stared out the window as the world rushed by in a blur of greens and browns. The rain smacked against the glass, and I pretended the wetness on my cheeks were just raindrops as well.
I pulled out my wallet, and took out the picture. Our house looked so peaceful and still. There was no sign of the disaster that was just a few days away. The apples were pulling down the tree’s branches and the rhododendrons were exploding with red blooms. Julie’s bike was in the front yard, its streamers flapping in the wind. One tear plopped onto the photo and I quickly brushed it away. I stuck the picture back into my wallet; I didn’t want to ruin it.
The train continued to rattle along, making a lot of noise. I tried to fall asleep, but the racket wouldn’t let me. I put my jacket over my face, trying to block out the harsh lighting of the train. I don’t know how long I sat like that, but when I pulled the jacket away, there was a man sitting across from me.
I flinched, and put the jacket back over my face. The tears were still escaping from my eyes, and I didn’t want a stranger asking me if I was fine. I tried to listen past the din of the train and focus on the rain hitting the window. It was a calmer sound, not as angry and chaotic. IO remembered sitting on our porch, listening to the light summer rain pattering against the roof and the leaves. I liked to watch it make rings in the bird bath.