Chapters 2 and 3 of my book *comment please!!*
I finnally updated you guys!!! This ones pretty long but i think it's pretty good so please read and comment!!
2
My parents fought a lot when I was a kid… I think that’s why I was such an imaginative child. My dreams, my thoughts were my escape. Everything I did held no signs of reality because reality was not good enough for me. The yells of my parents were the cries of war in the background of my battles in my yard. My climbing tree, a castle tall and valiant, or a pirate ship full of scallywags. My mind was a playground and I was always playing in it.
That perhaps explained my apparent shyness or lack of things to say. How could anyone be my friend when all I ever thought about was not even real; not even probable? You see when I was a child I never had any friends. I was always sitting alone thinking. Even when someone tried to approach me I was always to shy to say anything, from my perspective people in the real world were mean but in my imagination everyone was kind, so the thought of talking to anyone real was nerve wracking.
So I went on for a long time alone, but it was ok because I had myself and my dreams. I was happy with my life… the very innocence I possessed kept me glad in hard times, kept me ignorant of the evil surrounding me. I was happy. But as we all know to well such things cannot last. I remember the day I woke up. That day where my dreams could no longer hide me from the world. It was also the day I learned the cruelty of youth.
That day had been exceptionally good so far. I had been daring the heights of a cliff in the Rocky Mountains, but my air supplies were running short and I need to reach the top quickly before I passed out and fell. My fingers were gripped tight on the edge of the cliff when suddenly nails dug into my fingers and I fell from the side of the slide I had been climbing. Above me a group of young boys were pointing at me laughing, and behind me I could hear a group of girls laughing too and calling me monkey. I remember that I had scraped my knee and my cheeks had started to turn red, tears coming to my eyes.
“Why were you climbing the slide monkey?” They had said in judging, vindictive voices. I in fear ran. I just ran. There was nothing else for me to do. But they followed; they ran after me calling me monkey in mocking voices.
I couldn’t understand, at the time, why they were being so cruel. In my life so far people had always been so nice. So why were these people being so mean? It was that day that I realized that I could no longer pretend, because to the world pretending was wrong, it wasn’t accepted.
So I stopped pretending. I started to talk to people, no matter how hard it became to make friends I tried, and I tried. At recess I stood around like everyone else. I played baseball and tag like everyone else. I wore clothes like everyone else, and I was accepted like everyone else. I became like everyone else… forgetting my dreams, my innocence, my peace.
At home I could no longer ignore the ravings of my parents; their words of anger now ate at my soul. Their words making me hard and old; bent with the wear of an aged soul. I made friends with people who only paid attention to me if I wore what they wore and cared about what they cared about. People who, if I ever told them how I really felt, would abandon me at the drop of a hat. I had created an artificial happiness and for a time I was content, yet broken inside.
This was when I was in second grade. My grades were not to good that year; they hadn’t been horrible but they could have been much better. So it wasn’t surprising to me when my mom came to me one day near the end of they year and told me that she was going to request that I got held back. I at first pretended to be so angry and sad to my friends, but by the end of the year I think that it had become apparent that I was overjoyed to no longer have to suffer the will of the people around me.
To me the news of getting held back gave me hope. Just a glimmer of hope that things might change, that I could be happy again, that I could pretend. This was the only thing that got me through that summer.
3
She could hear the dull sound of a siren, and him continuing to scream for help. A tear slid across her cheek. He came back over to her and rolled her onto her back and put his hand onto her wound trying to stop the blood. She smiled up at him, as his tears fell onto her face. He looked into her eyes looking for something but she just stared back… she just stared.
2
My parents fought a lot when I was a kid… I think that’s why I was such an imaginative child. My dreams, my thoughts were my escape. Everything I did held no signs of reality because reality was not good enough for me. The yells of my parents were the cries of war in the background of my battles in my yard. My climbing tree, a castle tall and valiant, or a pirate ship full of scallywags. My mind was a playground and I was always playing in it.
That perhaps explained my apparent shyness or lack of things to say. How could anyone be my friend when all I ever thought about was not even real; not even probable? You see when I was a child I never had any friends. I was always sitting alone thinking. Even when someone tried to approach me I was always to shy to say anything, from my perspective people in the real world were mean but in my imagination everyone was kind, so the thought of talking to anyone real was nerve wracking.
So I went on for a long time alone, but it was ok because I had myself and my dreams. I was happy with my life… the very innocence I possessed kept me glad in hard times, kept me ignorant of the evil surrounding me. I was happy. But as we all know to well such things cannot last. I remember the day I woke up. That day where my dreams could no longer hide me from the world. It was also the day I learned the cruelty of youth.
That day had been exceptionally good so far. I had been daring the heights of a cliff in the Rocky Mountains, but my air supplies were running short and I need to reach the top quickly before I passed out and fell. My fingers were gripped tight on the edge of the cliff when suddenly nails dug into my fingers and I fell from the side of the slide I had been climbing. Above me a group of young boys were pointing at me laughing, and behind me I could hear a group of girls laughing too and calling me monkey. I remember that I had scraped my knee and my cheeks had started to turn red, tears coming to my eyes.
“Why were you climbing the slide monkey?” They had said in judging, vindictive voices. I in fear ran. I just ran. There was nothing else for me to do. But they followed; they ran after me calling me monkey in mocking voices.
I couldn’t understand, at the time, why they were being so cruel. In my life so far people had always been so nice. So why were these people being so mean? It was that day that I realized that I could no longer pretend, because to the world pretending was wrong, it wasn’t accepted.
So I stopped pretending. I started to talk to people, no matter how hard it became to make friends I tried, and I tried. At recess I stood around like everyone else. I played baseball and tag like everyone else. I wore clothes like everyone else, and I was accepted like everyone else. I became like everyone else… forgetting my dreams, my innocence, my peace.
At home I could no longer ignore the ravings of my parents; their words of anger now ate at my soul. Their words making me hard and old; bent with the wear of an aged soul. I made friends with people who only paid attention to me if I wore what they wore and cared about what they cared about. People who, if I ever told them how I really felt, would abandon me at the drop of a hat. I had created an artificial happiness and for a time I was content, yet broken inside.
This was when I was in second grade. My grades were not to good that year; they hadn’t been horrible but they could have been much better. So it wasn’t surprising to me when my mom came to me one day near the end of they year and told me that she was going to request that I got held back. I at first pretended to be so angry and sad to my friends, but by the end of the year I think that it had become apparent that I was overjoyed to no longer have to suffer the will of the people around me.
To me the news of getting held back gave me hope. Just a glimmer of hope that things might change, that I could be happy again, that I could pretend. This was the only thing that got me through that summer.
3
She could hear the dull sound of a siren, and him continuing to scream for help. A tear slid across her cheek. He came back over to her and rolled her onto her back and put his hand onto her wound trying to stop the blood. She smiled up at him, as his tears fell onto her face. He looked into her eyes looking for something but she just stared back… she just stared.