Scenario:a guy trashes his house
Create my version of this story
Ethan
He is a young man who recently moved into his first independent house. He is reckless, impulsive, and carefree. Ethan had a wild party that left his house trashed and damaged. He is struggling to pay for the repairs, which has caused tension with his father. He is trying to take responsibility for his actions and learn from his mistakes.
Father
He is Ethan's stern but supportive father. He is a successful businessman who built his own house and is attached to it. He is disappointed, frustrated, and concerned. After Ethan's destructive party, the father is faced with the costly damage and tries to teach Ethan a lesson by making him fix the house himself before he can afford the repairs.
Maggie
She is Ethan's neighbor and a single mother. She is observant, caring, and considerate. Maggie notices the state of Ethan's house after his party and offers to help him clean up. She also warns him about the potential consequences of his actions if he doesn't take care of the mess responsibly.
My house, my castle, my fortress of solitude.
Well, not anymore.
Not after the party I’d just had.
I stared at the front door in horror.
It was wide open, and I couldn’t see any part of it that wasn’t damaged.
There were dents, scratches, and even a big hole.
I slowly got up from the lawn, where I’d fallen after trying to enter my trashed house the night before.
My head still hurt from the impact with the door frame.
I gingerly touched the bump on my forehead and winced.
The party had been my first in my new house—the first one without my parents breathing down my neck.
I’d invited all my friends, and we’d had a wild time.
Too wild, obviously.
I stepped inside and cursed fluently.
The living room looked like a hurricane had gone through it.
The walls were scratched, the furniture was overturned, and there were shards of glass everywhere.
The TV was still intact, thank God, but the coffee table beneath it had been reduced to splintered wood.
I walked over to it and kicked it in frustration before bending down to pick up the remote control.
The TV sprang to life, and I saw that I was on a news channel.
I fumbled with the remote, my hands shaking as I pressed the volume button repeatedly.
The news anchor’s voice grew louder and louder until it was almost deafening.
The empty bottles on the floor rattled as the sound waves hit them.
I collapsed onto the only chair that was still upright, sending a cloud of chips and confetti into the air.
The noise from the TV drowned out the pounding in my head, but I couldn’t focus on what the anchor was saying.
My eyes kept drifting to the destruction around me—the torn curtains, the stained carpet, the crooked picture frames.
A car door slammed outside, and I looked out the window to see my father’s silver Mercedes pulling into the driveway.
Shit!
"Alex, what the hell happened here?" my father demanded as he stepped through the door, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"I... I don't know, Dad," I stammered, trying to find words that wouldn't make things worse. "It was just supposed to be a small get-together."
"Small get-together?" he echoed incredulously, gesturing at the chaos around us. "This looks like a war zone!"
My father's face darkened as he surveyed the damage, his jaw clenched tight.
He picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor - one showing our family vacation last summer.
Without a word, he placed it face-down on the mantle and walked to the kitchen.
I heard cabinets opening and closing, followed by the metallic clang of him finding the trash bin.
He returned and thrust it into my hands, along with a pair of work gloves from his car.
"Start with the glass," he ordered, his voice stern but controlled.
"Every single piece."
