The Purple Dog.

[zoolane]

The Purple Dog.

As a child, I wonder round alone with only my purple stuffed dog for company.
He was my best friend. He listen to me crying at night. When all I want and needed was a cuddle from my parents.

During day. I was alive six year and give appear of be normal child. Playing, laughing and having fun. In my mind I just want to be loving. Everyone knew on the estate that I lived on. That I was left alone at night with my dog but it was social acceptable. I played out at midnight with the silver moon shine and shimmer of stars. When every other child was sleep on the estate but with their parents in same flat as them.

I longed to have parents like that and to show me affection. No not them.
It is like they have switch that flicked on soon as they wake. They are self righteous manner took over them. I have nothing as child only my purple stuffed dog.

[hillwalker]

Another slice of reality - the way you recall seeing the beauty of 'playing' out late at night through a child's eyes (when most children are tucked up warm in bed) and the regret you now feel for what you missed out on makes this a very poignant piece of writing. You could be excused for dishing up a dollop of self-pity - but there's none on display here.

H

[zoolane]

Thank you H.

[zoolane]

The Suitcase.

I am six still playing out on my rusty shine green bike. The suitcases are their again outside my front door. Stack high against wall with my mum's fur coat on top. Is real going happened this time?

Both parents in toxic. Shouts, slam door and smash of chairs, plates. I hope my bedroom OK. Riding my bike round and round. Pretend not care what happened few 100 yards way. I am worrying if I am still going have mum by end of day.

The event faded into drinking session with friends. So old Navy, Jim Reeves records come out. Dinner time come and go. I allow to have some bread and butter to dinner. I get to play out again but bedtime come.

[zoolane]

The Bottle.

That day did come when she leave us for 6 months. My father told me that I will be put in care soon. My days were going to school try to learn but races round my brain is 'will I or I won't be better off in care?'

That home, my dad is in self pity mode and I can't understand it. Most time I am out or in my bedroom in depression state. Written poetry or drawing things try blending to my fantasy world.

My washing get done but different colour items. My diet is still no existence maybe dinner is most stable meal sometime everyday. Should I going get a bottle of Merry down Cider from my father bed and come just like them.

[Delta40]

I love the purple stuffed dog Zoo.