Oh. My. God.
I cannot believe that I’m putting myself through this…
This is not wise…
Several months ago now, I saw a series of posts from
Tara, from Letters2Emma
which made up a story which she’d written as [I believe] a 10-year-old; she found it on her computer – the root source of all evil.
Anyways, today, I found a file on my computer called ‘Goodbye’, last edited in the year 2012, making me just 10-years-old when I made it. ‘Writing suicide notes so soon?’ I thought to myself. ‘Was 10-year-old me having that many issues with Year 5 Mathematics?’
I opened it up, and realised that it was a story which I’d written, aged 10. Come to think of it, I vaguely remember writing it, but I’ve had to reread it to figure out the plot – or, the element to the story that SHOULD be a plot.
[Trust me, it makes literally 0 sense whatsoever…]
As a way of entertaining my lovely readers, and to make myself cringe unbelievably, I have decided to post this amazing story on my blog… Just for you. There will be one ‘section’ a day, which will mean the story lasts for 10 days in total. I really hope you enjoy it.
Please just bare in mind that:
A] 10-year-olds have crappy grammar
B] I was, based on this, a slightly psychopathic kid… Make your own judgements
And so, with no further ado…
GOODBYE: PART ONE
Thursday 18th April
A deadly silence consumed our single room house. A silence that lasted for much longer than it normally does. Normally, Mummy or Daddy (when he isn’t mining coal) breaks the silence – for my benefit, I suppose. Today, that didn’t happen.
“Ciao,” said my mum, beckoning me over to her. Reluctantly, I put down my book, stood up and trotted over to my mother, sitting next to her on the floor.
“Yes Mummy?” I squeaked in my high, pathetic voice.
“Only speak when spoken to!” yelled my mother, the look on her face switching to one of fury. Then, it relaxed.
I wasn’t angry; I knew what was going on at home. I knew we had no money and I knew that Daddy might lose his job. So I wasn’t angry. I nodded.
“I’m sorry to say this Ciao but… but… you’re going to have to leave school.” The words hit me like a steam train.
“What?” I couldn’t help but say. “I mean, p-pardon?”
“Your father has lost his job,” explained my mother. “I can’t work because of the baby. You’ll have to work on Miles Farm.” Miles Farm? That’s about 200 miles away; I’ll have to go by train.
“What time will I get back to see you every night Mummy?” I asked.
“Ciao,” said my mother, “you wont be coming home. You’ll stay at Miles Farm.”
The next thing I knew, I was curled up in my bed, crying, crying, crying. Whatever I tried, the tears wouldn’t stop. I was going to Miles Farm. Miles Farm which was miles and miles away.