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mum

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I sit still, not daring to move, as the eagle eyed lump, sat behind his desk supposedly teaching us, would catch me in a flash. He begins to lumber around the class room like a Neanderthal; his hairy hands protrude out of his dark auburn jacket. The miserable old man always had a grudge against me. Everyday It’s the same, I sit looking here looking down at the gum covered floor .Everything was better when mum was here; she suddenly died when I was ten. And my dad ,he’s more of an alcoholic roommate ; he’s never in and when I do see him he’s so drunk he doesn’t know who I am. He used to be a respectable police man until my mum died.
It’s a cold evening coming back from school , foxes savaging through bins and crows swoop down to gather the left overs ; I live down a back lane where you cannot see much apart from your feet as the eary looking trees arch over like an old man . to add to the creepy ness of the wood , a thin layer of mist sits on top of the ground like a light blanket. A sense of being watched greets you as you enter the gloomy surrounding of the wood. People are known to occasionally go missing here but they are all myths .
Once I reach my house ,I see the door slightly open , my dad is never back this early , or maybe he isn’t. I peer through the slight gap; no one appears to be home ,owell probably a racoon or something .it’s so cold ,bitter air creeps in through the many cracks in our decaying house and we have no electricity or money for heating , I slump down on the beaten up sofa with many stains telling a different story ,at that moment my dad ambles in .
Later my dad hands me a note , he doesn’t know who it’s from but it’s clearly addressed to me, slowly I expose the letter and the writing which I instantly recognise, but do not recognise who its written by . it says
Dear jago
You will understand everything soon enough
Love …
The rest has been torn and ripped, that’s all I could read but what will I understand and who would finish a letter with love, I suppose the letter was write, I hope I will understand. I lay in my creaking, fragmented bed and I think about how many people could of written it , but that hand writing , I recognise it , well soon I will know.
I wake up. I look out of the window and the ground is covered in crisp white frost, slowly I begin to stretch and groan making an effort to get out of bed. Soon enough it’s time to go and face the misery of Mr Smith , as soon as I open the door the bitter wind hits me like a bullet and the ground crumbles and cracks beneath me.
I get home and there’s another letter , could it be the same person ; I carefully rip it open and again the same writing but this time there’s a pin inside .
Dear jago
Hello again how is my little boy I hope u like my present
Love ….
Again anonymous, but there gift it’s a pin very similar to my mothers , a small circle with a triangle welded in the middle , is this a sick joke or real life I cannot determine which .
I’m so hungry, I haven’t eaten in days, but my dad is out and he spends the very little we have on drink. There is a little bit of rock hard bread under my bed that’s all I have there’s no choice but to eat it. However now my attention turns towards the pin, glimmering on the window sill , looks expensive , I know no one who would own such a thing ; except from my mother , could this be hers , I gradually fall asleep
I awake from a dream, another letter was there and this time it was signed mum, a dream I hope would one day be a reality, but this could not be. She’s gone and never coming back. I get out of bed and walk through the miserable paint stripped hall way and into the kitchen. There’s a letter. To me again. Slowly I unseal it
Dear jago
I’ll be home soon love mum
This could not be, my mum , she’s gone , or is she . she said she would be home soon so were has she been all this time , shell be home soon but whens soon .I need to get to school, I’m late but considering the events I have an excuse its unusually sunny outside , this could be my day .
I get home ; theres a women waiting at the door!

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  1. Lindsey tong

    Brilliant Elliot, really mysterious and moodily atmospheric, is it really his mum?
    I want to know, I like the hope that hangs on the end and hope the boy’s life gets better!
    Well done!

    Mar 16, 2017 @ 6:33 pm

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