Thursday, 28 January 2016

Creative Writing 1&2


    One of my earliest memories is of my father. He usually wore a grey shirt, with a metal necklace dangling from his neck. He always took pictures of special times with us, like that time we celebrated my grandfather's birthday. He used to play a lot with me, but now those times are gone. However happy I may be, playing with my father, I still get injured like the time I dislocated my shoulder. My father had that voice, which has now changed, but, however, different it may be, my father is still my father. He cares a lot about me, and we love each other. But sometimes I ask myself, how can I change his temper. Thankfully now it is better.

    The place where I used to play was the living room. Back then, when I was a child, the living room was huge. Without a piano or all sorts of stuff, it is not like how it is now. Almost everyday, I take out a box. In the box, I find the familiar toys I play everyday. Blue, red, grey or green, the toy cars huddled in the box. One by one, I take them out and play with them for a long time. On other days, I play with a remote control car or a mini mountain where cars automatically go up and rid down. Those were fun times, times I still had fun. Up to now, I still have some toys I used to play.

    The house I used to live in is where I still live now. However, it is very different. Back then. The living room was giant. Without the piano and other boxes or trollys or extra sofas we have now, the place was awesome. There were three bedrooms, with different door colours, two purple, one blue. Those colours did not change up till now. The blue-doored room is the master bedroom, where my parents sleep. I hang out there sometimes since it's the biggest and is very comfy. I always sit on the sofa in the living room, eat snacks and relax, until now I still do it, the sofa one of my best friends.


    The park lay before me. It was getting late; The orange sunlight reflected from the green leaves of the towering trees of the park. The light was growing less. The sky darkened. Feeling brave, I stepped into the park. I followed a trail through a park. I wanted to get home as soon as I can. Dad was busy working late, and could not fetch me from my ballet class
. The smell of the dense miniature forest overwhelmed me. The park, with a lot of corners and dark spaces to hide, can be a dangerous place for a girl like me.

    Suddenly, I heard tiny footsteps behind me. Turning around to confront whoever was behind, I heard a whimper. I was terrified. I knew I should have listened to mum and walked on the streets, instead of this shortcut. I quickened my pace and I could feel the figure accelerate too. I decided that I should run. I ran for my life. The moon was already rising. I knew I was far from help.

    The figure caught up, and the footsteps sounded like it was coming from my side. Turning my head around, I looked away, afraid of looking the stalker in his eyes. Crack! I stepped on a twig and fell. The figure was right beside me. I scrambled to my feet, and I ran, again. The figure was fast, following me beside. I ran off the path, into the woods, where there is safety. Squeezing through hole after hole, between trees and jumping over roots, I reached a dead corner. I'm doomed.

    I wished I listened to my mum and did not take this shortcut.

No comments:

Post a Comment