This is a short story I wrote at school that I got A for.
"Lola, you'll catch a cold! Get out of the rain!"
My seven year old sister giggled.
"No I won't. You try it Bridget it's like the best shower in the world!" she called.
It was early spring and it had been a fine day but it was still cold at night and the sun was about to begin its descent out of the sky.
"Fine but only for five minutes. It's about to start getting dark," I called back.
"Okay! Come on. It's the best Bridget, the puddles are huge!"
I went over. The puddles were indeed very large. In the park the surface of the ground was uneven and there were many dips and holes where water had filled during the rainy day. Water trickled through my hair and down my neck like an egg had been cracked on my head.
We spent at least half an hour playing in the rain. Playing tag and pretending we were sailors awaiting rescue from the puddles and the monsters they held. I started to feel the sunlight being suck from the sky as the sun set taking the heat with it, leaving us with the chill of the evening. I should get Lola home, what would Mum say. 'Irresponsible 14 year old" probably. I hoisted Lola onto my shoulder and carried her back through the park. She sneezed all the way.
That evening Lola got a fever. Her face was pale and shining with perspiration. After Mum and Dad had gone to bed I stayed with Lola. She looked at me with tired eyes. I felt awful. I should have taken her straight home. My face must have looked how I felt because she then asked "Have I been bad? You look funny. Is it about the puddles?"
I looked up, startled. "No of course not. You just go to sleep and get better for the morning, okay?"
Lola wasn't better the next morning. She was worse. Mum had to get the
doctor to come over because Lola was too sick to even eat.
"Go and get ready for school love. You don't want to be late," whispered Mum as the doctor took Lola's temperature.
"I can't go to school! Not today. What if...what if Lola's not okay?"
"Just go love. I'll text you as soon as we know what's going on, okay,"
She looked pained. I nodded my head woodenly, I didn't trust my voice.
At recess Ange and Jam noticed I was quiet. Ange (Angela) is my height
with blond hair. Jam, my boyfriend, is taller and he had black hair, I
have red so we call ourselves 'Hair Diversity.'
Jam piped up. "You're not you today. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I muttered even though I knew it was pointless trying to lie
to Jam. He put his arm around me. I couldn't stop the tears in my eyes.
"Lola's sick. I lost track of time when we were playing in the rain.
It's my fault."
Jam took me into his arms. "It's alright B. It's going to be fine." Then my phone buzzed.
"Coming 2 get u. B there soon. Have called the school. xx mum."
"Oh no." I whispered.
At the hospital there were people everywhere, always busy, never idol
for even a second, always helping. Mum and I followed the doctor who had
examined Lola into his office. He began in a voice laced heavily with
sympathy. "I'm afraid Lola has an infection of the lung that could have
been caused by anything in your suburb. It's too far into the infection
to do anything for her. I'm sorry."
We, Mum, Dad and I, spent the next few months at the hospital in Lola's room. On her last day she asked for me.
"Hey you," I whispered, "what are you thinking about?". She smiled weakly
and at the age of seven and a half spoke drew her last breath and her final word tumbled gently from her lips.
Monday, October 24, 2011
I love to write. It's just as good as reading except you're in control of the plot. It comes naturally and everywhere I go I think about the stories I could be making about wherever I am. I love to write short and long stories though I'm better at long. I have a couple of things I'm trying to work on but things get in the way and I also have no one to go to for feedback. So I'll post short stories here or as a Word document incase the wall gets really crowded. Anyway I'm looking for thoughts and opinions from people who aren't my mother (she's overly critical sometimes).