Writing from Life
Member rating: No Rating | Words: 768 | Submitted: Fri May 09 2008
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Writing from Life So, there I was, perched on the towering marble work-surface in the dim light shifting through our slit of a kitchen window, sobbing in a way that only a five year-old can. My dad was patting me reassuringly on the back, while my mum, mopping the constant cascade of tears, streaming from my leaky eyes, just like the water running from a waterfall and falling into the basin surrounding it, softly crooned reassuring comforts. Why, you ask? Well, for a five year-old the slightest hiccup is like trekking up the side of Mount Everest, but at the time I did not have the experience to know this, therefore, the gnawing fear at the back of my mind grew. The events that lead me to that work-surface happened during the opening week of 'Year One'. We were entering an imposing edifice, which, in contrast to the secure environment...

