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Childhood Memories





BlackroseDigitalDesigns
For a writing project in class we were asked to write about a childhood memory. This was mine, I would really like some feedback


The summer suns rays reflected off the glassy surface of my god-fathers pool with an almost blinding intensity. A scream broke the pristine silence of the backyard as I came flying from the other side of the garage roof and leapt into the air. The excitement pulsated through my veins, almost slowing time as I descended into the cool refreshing water. With as large a splash the body of an eight year old boy can make, I immersed myself in the cool refreshing silence of the water.

My god-fathers voice bellowed from the back door, piercing the silence in my underwater paradise. Saddened at the thought of being dragged from my quiet haven, I moved slowly up the pool ladder. I dragged my feet to the soft cottony towel awaiting me on the railing. That’s when it hit me. There had been no secondary bellow from the backdoor as per usual when I took my time. With that thought in mind I scurried across the freshly cut grass and inside.

My god-parents sat solemn faced at the dining room table. My god-fathers usual jovial smile and tone were gone, replaced with a weak smile and tear-filled eyes. An uncomfortable silence filled the small kitchenette. I diverted my attention by rummaging through the ever-full snack cupboard, I couldn’t bare to look into those eyes.

His thick sausage like fingers gripped my shoulder and forced me around and into those deep blue, tear filled eyes. Even my child mind knew what was happening. My father had been sick for most of the summer, that’s why I was there. Before he could open his mouth to speak the words that would undoubtedly break my small heart, I was back out the door.

My legs carried me faster than they ever had before, I didn’t have a clue where I was going, just running. I turned down every road I came too, trying to lose myself in the labyrinth of the city. I could hear nothing but the pounding of my heart as it beat harder to keep up with my feet. The hot concrete burned my soles with every step, but I couldn’t quit.

I didn’t want to stop, but my legs didn’t give me a choice in the matter. They tangled around each other, sending me skidding across the burning asphalt. I didn’t move. My reflexes to nurse my wounds were over powered by the shear weight of what had happened. I just cried. I cried for what felt like an eternity until my god-fathers strong trucker arms wrapped around me and lifted me off of the ground.
wellerchap
That's very moving stuff....is it based on truth?
You must be the top writer in the class, I'm guessing?
I think it takes a lot of guts to bare one's soul in the written word, there for all to see.
Well done.
Ghost900
That is very good writing, it was very interesting and kept me reading as well as a very good writing style. You must really like writing as that shows your writing quality.

Great job on writing it.

My only question is what is the significance of a "secondary bellow", I know it is some sort of valve or another but is that implying something about why you shouldn't have jumped in or what?

(I'm sorry if this is a stupid question as I am not a writer.) Wink
BlackroseDigitalDesigns
Ghost900 wrote:

My only question is what is the significance of a "secondary bellow", I know it is some sort of valve or another but is that implying something about why you shouldn't have jumped in or what?

:

The "secondary bellow", my godfather would normally yell for me a second time when I didn't go in right away.
BlackroseDigitalDesigns
wellerchap wrote:
That's very moving stuff....is it based on truth?
You must be the top writer in the class, I'm guessing?
I think it takes a lot of guts to bare one's soul in the written word, there for all to see.
Well done.


I dont know about top writer, but I will say this is one of the only assignments I handed in and I still passed the class because the teacher refused to let me fail.

It is based off of my real life experience, my step-dad passed on when I was 9. This experience is one I will never forget.
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