squillyfer
11-09-2005, 18:54
One parter. I wrote this for my original writing task in english and thought I'd see what you thought of it.
His Fault?
I walked out of the gates after another lousy day at school. All around me I saw children running towards expectant parents, proud fathers. I began the long walk home alone. Mum would still be at work when I got home so it would be up to me to make dinner. Things had been hard lately but that was his fault. When mum did come home she would be tired, too tired to listen to anything I had to say. Not that it mattered, nothing mattered to her anymore, all she thought about was him.
People had tried to help us but mum didn’t take charity and I hated their pity so we soldiered on alone. We we’re used to it now, being alone. Sometimes it was nice it just being the two of us but then there were the other times, the times when I hated the fact that he was gone, that he’d left us. That was his fault.
I placed my key in the door and twisted it in the lock. It was cold outside but being inside was no comfort. Money had been tight and we couldn’t afford to waste it on petty things like heating but that was his fault. He’d left us with nothing and now mum was working around the clock just to feed us.
He’d been gone nearly six months but mum still cried sometimes, I don’t know why, I was too angry to cry. There were other kids at school with only one parent and some of them had never even know their dads but this was different. My dad had been there for me one day and then disappeared from my life the next. The other kids had gotten used to it, some of them clung to childish fantasies that there dad would come back but I didn’t. He wasn’t coming back.
Everyone tried to convince me that it would be ok and that he hadn’t wanted to leave us but it didn’t work. If he hadn’t wanted to leave us then why was he gone? Why wasn’t he here? I traced the outline of a photograph on the mantle piece with my finger. It was of the three of us on our last holiday together. He looked so happy and his eyes sparkled with contentment but I didn’t want to look at him anymore after all he would never look at me again.
I walked into the room and his familiar smell of tobacco drifted towards me as it lingered in the air. Memories flashed through my head but I didn’t cry. I was still angry and it was still his fault. He had made his choice. He had chosen to go out in the car that night. He had gone even though he had been drinking and the roads were glistening with fresh ice. He had chosen to leave us; he had chosen to die so in my eyes it was all his fault.
His Fault?
I walked out of the gates after another lousy day at school. All around me I saw children running towards expectant parents, proud fathers. I began the long walk home alone. Mum would still be at work when I got home so it would be up to me to make dinner. Things had been hard lately but that was his fault. When mum did come home she would be tired, too tired to listen to anything I had to say. Not that it mattered, nothing mattered to her anymore, all she thought about was him.
People had tried to help us but mum didn’t take charity and I hated their pity so we soldiered on alone. We we’re used to it now, being alone. Sometimes it was nice it just being the two of us but then there were the other times, the times when I hated the fact that he was gone, that he’d left us. That was his fault.
I placed my key in the door and twisted it in the lock. It was cold outside but being inside was no comfort. Money had been tight and we couldn’t afford to waste it on petty things like heating but that was his fault. He’d left us with nothing and now mum was working around the clock just to feed us.
He’d been gone nearly six months but mum still cried sometimes, I don’t know why, I was too angry to cry. There were other kids at school with only one parent and some of them had never even know their dads but this was different. My dad had been there for me one day and then disappeared from my life the next. The other kids had gotten used to it, some of them clung to childish fantasies that there dad would come back but I didn’t. He wasn’t coming back.
Everyone tried to convince me that it would be ok and that he hadn’t wanted to leave us but it didn’t work. If he hadn’t wanted to leave us then why was he gone? Why wasn’t he here? I traced the outline of a photograph on the mantle piece with my finger. It was of the three of us on our last holiday together. He looked so happy and his eyes sparkled with contentment but I didn’t want to look at him anymore after all he would never look at me again.
I walked into the room and his familiar smell of tobacco drifted towards me as it lingered in the air. Memories flashed through my head but I didn’t cry. I was still angry and it was still his fault. He had made his choice. He had chosen to go out in the car that night. He had gone even though he had been drinking and the roads were glistening with fresh ice. He had chosen to leave us; he had chosen to die so in my eyes it was all his fault.