Following on from my earlier example of childhood creativity and general writing excellence, My Imaginary Dad, I’m able to offer a further two, recently discovered pieces from the same period. These are from my 5th form writing book, which means I’m about ten and a half years old.
I believe they offer a valuable insight into my dramatic, some might say traumatic childhood and the sense of humour which prevailed in these dark times.
My Three Wishes
My first wish would be for daddy to come home earlier because it varies at different times all through the night. Last night he came home at 5.00 in the morning.
And my second wish would be that my dog would stop wagging her sharp tail for it hurts us and and bleeds greatly and my last wish is that I was in Denmark on a farm as I did the two previous years milking cows.
Three days after I wrote this, dad left home, shamed by my expose of his secret nocturnal habits.
Note also the Shakespearean tone of my second wish, a discreet nod to the advantages of my traditional village education.
Untitled (probably for fear of reprisals)
As I walked down the long dark road something jumped out in front of me. It was hard to make out but before I could do anything else I had a black hand touch me and then things started to happen.
A van came whizzing round the corner it screached and two men came running out and pushed me in the van, they tied my legs up and then gagged me. I heard the syren of the police and we swerved and instead of taking the road to Rickety House they took the country road. I was nearly dead already. They said come on lets run and tell boss and left me. 2 hours later the boss came back with a gun. What?s your last request he said? Put that gun down I said. Bang. Ah I was dead.
Interesting that the touch of a black hand could set off a chain of such cataclysmic events. Was it gloved or am I simply racist?
My response to ‘what’s your last request?’ is an interesting one. It’s hard to tell whether this was intentionally humorous or just naively logical.
There is perhaps a lesson here for Death Row prisoners. Don’t waste your last requests on McDonalds or a neck massage. Simply ask the executioner to put down the deadly syringe. In my case, this didn’t fool ‘the boss’ but given your circumstances it’s surely worth a try.