Louisos
02-23-2008, 12:34 PM
Got full marks, might be worth a read :D
You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently. Everything that you’ve put us through. What you did to us. As I sit here in our L- REG Honda I wonder how I became this. There is dirt all over the seat next to me. Hardly the Bentley we used to go around in. Mum is sat at the drivers seat, staring silently ahead at the motorway we are running across. I am sat in the back. The passengers’ seat is empty. And it is now, while I sit here, pretending to read a book, that I reminisce on how this became our reality.
I remember the day quite well you know, although some bits are indistinct. You’d just come home from London. You’d bought me some of those silly Warhammer models, the ones Auntie Clem had shown me at her dank, smoky house, I saw you carrying them down the narrow garden path, walled by tall green grass, the models had a light blue box that for some bizarre reason contrasted heavily with your beard. I can hardly believe it was only eight years ago. To me, it felt like it’d happened at the very beginning of my life. I was six years old I think, you would know. You’d only just started to let me play with those models; you’d thought that glue that you stuck them together with was dangerous when I was younger. Mum was cooking a roast dinner in our half finished kitchen when you had come in. She didn’t hear you over the roar of the oven. Meals were very different back then to how they are now, they weren’t quiet or awkward. When you entered the kitchen, she realised you were home and hugged you. You started to talk very quickly and I couldn’t hear you two over the oven so I went into the living room. I had raised myself to a chair at that big oak table we had and gathered all the tools necessary for the creation of the models. I missed the times when it was like that; you and mum would talk and keep each other occupied, happy. Whilst I could go and do what I wanted, not having to worry about either of you. I missed being a child.
We went over a bump in the road and my book fell out of my hand. Mum looked around but didn’t say anything. Hurriedly I scooped up the fallen book and pretended to bury myself in it once again. Mum continued to look at the road silently; she turned the radio up a notch.
It’s a shame really, that I don’t have those Warhammer models anymore. I used to adore those things, every time you came home you brought me some new ones and then I’d spend the next few days gluing them together; painting them with the few colours that I had.
So you had come into the living room with me, but I can’t really remember what happened after that. I suppose it was just the usual, you might have asked me how school was going, helped me with those mundane, impossible models; we may have listened to the radio together. I don’t know, that’s all guesswork, perhaps you would know what we did that day. It’s a shame I can’t ask you.
I notice that the lack of noise in the car has become slightly louder. I ask Mum how her work is going. When we’ll arrive. What our first move will be when we get there. In a perhaps desperate attempt to break the pause of the radio I ask all the questions that you used to ask.
My memory of later on that day sharpens up, I think it was about six o’clock. The food was nearly ready, I can remember smelling its scent penetrating the living room where you and me were sitting, as Mum opened the kitchen door. She asked you in a voice bordering sternness to go and hang out the washing. You obliged; heaving yourself up from the sofa, and asked me whether I wanted to help you hang out the washing. I had said no, I was too busy playing with my models that you had helped me glue together. I’m sorry. I was only young. I could never have known. No one could have known.
Once again, my memory is incomplete on what happened after you went out. Mum might have asked me to help her in the kitchen to some extent, I may have carried on watching TV or played with my newly created models. Either way I didn’t do much. Eventually, the food was ready. You still hadn’t come in. After much whinging, I took my orders to go and get you to come inside. I wouldn’t have whinged if I knew. I shouldn’t have complained. I’m sorry I complained. I couldn’t find you by the washing lines, so I entered the house we were renovating, calling your name. There was so much dust I was nearly choking. I can remember the next scene perfectly, I had finally seen you, in the to-be living room, but there was something wrong. You were suspended in the air. Your arms hung limply by your side and your neck was tilted at an awkward angle. You were hanging. I screamed. Loudly. Mum came rushing out of the house and saw you. Together we heaved you down to the floor. I was instructed to ring 999. I ran back to the house and picked up the phone. My conversation with the operator was a blur and I eventually put the phone down. But the next part was strange. I was on my own in the living room, and I saw the models on the table. Blindly, I went and picked the nearest one up, the paint was still hadn’t dried, I just stood there, it must have been for minutes, with the toy in my hand, just holding it, just looking at it. Then, I threw it down. And raced back to where I’d found you. I’m sorry I spent so long looking at that stupid toy. It wasn’t my fault. I was so young.
You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently. Everything that you’ve put us through. What you did to us. As I sit here in our L- REG Honda I wonder how I became this. There is dirt all over the seat next to me. Hardly the Bentley we used to go around in. Mum is sat at the drivers seat, staring silently ahead at the motorway we are running across. I am sat in the back. The passengers’ seat is empty. And it is now, while I sit here, pretending to read a book, that I reminisce on how this became our reality.
I remember the day quite well you know, although some bits are indistinct. You’d just come home from London. You’d bought me some of those silly Warhammer models, the ones Auntie Clem had shown me at her dank, smoky house, I saw you carrying them down the narrow garden path, walled by tall green grass, the models had a light blue box that for some bizarre reason contrasted heavily with your beard. I can hardly believe it was only eight years ago. To me, it felt like it’d happened at the very beginning of my life. I was six years old I think, you would know. You’d only just started to let me play with those models; you’d thought that glue that you stuck them together with was dangerous when I was younger. Mum was cooking a roast dinner in our half finished kitchen when you had come in. She didn’t hear you over the roar of the oven. Meals were very different back then to how they are now, they weren’t quiet or awkward. When you entered the kitchen, she realised you were home and hugged you. You started to talk very quickly and I couldn’t hear you two over the oven so I went into the living room. I had raised myself to a chair at that big oak table we had and gathered all the tools necessary for the creation of the models. I missed the times when it was like that; you and mum would talk and keep each other occupied, happy. Whilst I could go and do what I wanted, not having to worry about either of you. I missed being a child.
We went over a bump in the road and my book fell out of my hand. Mum looked around but didn’t say anything. Hurriedly I scooped up the fallen book and pretended to bury myself in it once again. Mum continued to look at the road silently; she turned the radio up a notch.
It’s a shame really, that I don’t have those Warhammer models anymore. I used to adore those things, every time you came home you brought me some new ones and then I’d spend the next few days gluing them together; painting them with the few colours that I had.
So you had come into the living room with me, but I can’t really remember what happened after that. I suppose it was just the usual, you might have asked me how school was going, helped me with those mundane, impossible models; we may have listened to the radio together. I don’t know, that’s all guesswork, perhaps you would know what we did that day. It’s a shame I can’t ask you.
I notice that the lack of noise in the car has become slightly louder. I ask Mum how her work is going. When we’ll arrive. What our first move will be when we get there. In a perhaps desperate attempt to break the pause of the radio I ask all the questions that you used to ask.
My memory of later on that day sharpens up, I think it was about six o’clock. The food was nearly ready, I can remember smelling its scent penetrating the living room where you and me were sitting, as Mum opened the kitchen door. She asked you in a voice bordering sternness to go and hang out the washing. You obliged; heaving yourself up from the sofa, and asked me whether I wanted to help you hang out the washing. I had said no, I was too busy playing with my models that you had helped me glue together. I’m sorry. I was only young. I could never have known. No one could have known.
Once again, my memory is incomplete on what happened after you went out. Mum might have asked me to help her in the kitchen to some extent, I may have carried on watching TV or played with my newly created models. Either way I didn’t do much. Eventually, the food was ready. You still hadn’t come in. After much whinging, I took my orders to go and get you to come inside. I wouldn’t have whinged if I knew. I shouldn’t have complained. I’m sorry I complained. I couldn’t find you by the washing lines, so I entered the house we were renovating, calling your name. There was so much dust I was nearly choking. I can remember the next scene perfectly, I had finally seen you, in the to-be living room, but there was something wrong. You were suspended in the air. Your arms hung limply by your side and your neck was tilted at an awkward angle. You were hanging. I screamed. Loudly. Mum came rushing out of the house and saw you. Together we heaved you down to the floor. I was instructed to ring 999. I ran back to the house and picked up the phone. My conversation with the operator was a blur and I eventually put the phone down. But the next part was strange. I was on my own in the living room, and I saw the models on the table. Blindly, I went and picked the nearest one up, the paint was still hadn’t dried, I just stood there, it must have been for minutes, with the toy in my hand, just holding it, just looking at it. Then, I threw it down. And raced back to where I’d found you. I’m sorry I spent so long looking at that stupid toy. It wasn’t my fault. I was so young.