Sunday, 27 May 2012

Before I Could Write - Part 5

The first time anyone noticed I had a personality seemed to be when I was about ten.  Although most people skimmed over me as simply a ‘quiet’ child, The Teacher did at least acknowledge
‘The Hill has a dry sense of humour and this is evident in The Creative Writing as well as in drama sessions when The Hill performs with confidence’
 and I admitted that the highlight of the year was
‘writing storys’ (sic). 

I remember that class.  It was in a shabby hut with pillars in the middle of the room and during a lightning storm felt as safe as a paper box on top of a large metal rod.  I sat with The Butler, another best friend and an interchangeable fourth next to the fire exit and we kept a pet spider in our pencil pot.  Fridays were the best day because on Fridays we were allowed to be creative.  It was the first regular time set aside since I had started school that encouraged the artistic.

And yet I can only find one thing that I wrote from this year of The Life.  And it’s a pile of rubbish (still).  The difference between the rubbish I wrote before I was ten and this rubbish is that I thought this was a pile of rubbish when I wrote it.

But it’s all I have of a ten-year-old me, so here it is:

Self Portrait


Once long ago a man named Blue Dove sat in his chair, gun in hand, baby on back and love in his heart, but before you think it’s a soppy love story read on.

Blue Dove had married a young girl but she fell sick and died two weeks ago and all he had to remember her by was Oso her daughter.

Neana was his ex-wife’s name, she was 29 when she died.  Blue Dove was 36.

Now to jump 20 years on.

Blue Dove was 56, his daughter 20, and her daughter was 2, Oso’s daughter was called Osotis which is shortened to Tis.

One day when Blue Dove went hunting Tis followed him and every time he turned round she hid.  First she hid in a bush, then in a swamp and last in a giant flower, but when she tried to get out she couldn’t!

In the middle was a sort of fire and out of the fire came a plant person.  She was green as a stem, her hair was blue and looked like petals.

“My name is Mymy, you must save my brother and my village,” said the plant person.

“But how, I’m just a 2 year old?  I cannot,” said Tis.

“You must, kill Prince Weed and I’ll let you go.”  And with that Mymy pushed Tis into the fire.

Tis found herself in plant land.

Just then a crowd walked by so Tis followed them, eventually they stopped at a stand and people shouted for a new leader, so different people walked up but each got an egg in the face.

Tis walked up and held her hand in the air for silence and to her amazement fire flew from her hands.

“Witch, witch,” screamed the crowd.

Tis stamped her foot in anger and sparks flew.

“Witch, witch, witch, witch,” screamed the crowd.

Now Tis was very upset by all the screaming and glared at the crowd and they fell under a spell.

“Rid yourself of Prince Weed and save Mymy’s brother.”

“Wee neeed aaa leeaadeeerr,” said the crowd.

“No, you only need courage,” said Tis, she didn’t know what she was saying, come on she was only two.

“MAKE WAY FOR PRINCE WEED” “if not we’ll kill you,” someone shouted as Prince Weed suddenly walked by.

“Now,” said Tis.  She held her hands in the air and burnt Weed.

“Stop stop,” screamed Weed.  “O.K. but take me to Mymy’s brother,” said Tis.

So Tis set Menot free which was Mymy’s brother.

Menot fell in love with Osotis and lived with her for 30 years then he fell ill and died.  His last words were My Osotis and he gave her a flower.

“Myosotis what a lovely name,” said Osotis “Think I’ll call this flower Myosotis.”

Osotis went home.  Blue Dove and Oso hugged her.  She tried to tell them about Menot but Oso said “forget Menot.” “Never,” said Osotis but she changed the name Myosotis to forget Menot, But over the years people changed it to Forget-me-not.


As you can see, I really captured how a two-year-old speaks and acts.

I can remember The Embarrassment when The Teacher made me read this out to the class because she thought the first line was really good.  I also thought the first line was good, but then didn't know how to continue, which is why it suddenly skips twenty years.  I felt that the actual story was a betrayal of my promise.

But good news, at least I managed to get across the vital information of how old the characters were.

Hmm.  Beginning to regret The Plan to post up stories I wrote as a child.  The sheer rubbish-ness of the stories was meant to be funny but The Epiphany didn’t happen until I was 21, so that’s at least ten more years of rubbish to dig through.  I don’t think I can take much more.

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