Autobiography - creative writing.

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Autobiography

Life is one of the greatest blessings that the God has bestowed us. This blessing is as unique as bestowed only once. Ecstasy and grief are two focal components of life. Throughout the course of life, an individual capriciously establishes links with these states. These random links appear in form of memorable incidents. In this essay, I am going to convey a glimpse of some of my past, present and future.

My earliest memories are like bottom of a rusty bucket; rusty and damp. Rusty because I do not remember them at all, but damp because I do recall some incidents clear enough to explain. I remember death of my grandfather when I was only four years old. Perhaps the moments of bereavement become irremovable part of a person’s memories. It is like iron in a damp condition corrodes and rust becomes eternal.

Vivid images of that moment of horror that makes me go shuddered. That night I cannot forget even if I want to. I will always remember one particular day for all the wrong reasons. It was the evening, my family had all gathered round to hear the wonderful stories my Grandfather would always tell us about his childhood. I especially loved these moments, as it was when I felt the most warmth, love and togetherness. That night, my Grandfather was not with us as he was seriously ill and had stayed at his home. My Grandmother had forced everyone to leave him alone with her and to try and ignore it. Instead my Great Uncle took his place as the storyteller. I remember how my mind was wondering and how restless I became, wishing I sat beside my Grandfather and had been there for him, like he was always for me. A sudden drowsiness came over me.

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The moment I finally fell asleep on my mother's lap, an abrupt scream from my auntie awoke me. A strange curiosity filled the room. I looked up to my father and saw him with his face pointed towards the ground. I didn’t understand what was happening. I looked around the room bewildered, as a strange unsettled feeling filled the house. I asked my mother in a soft voice what had happened, afraid that I would break the silence. She didn’t answer. What’s happened? Why is everyone so still? Did I do something? I thought to myself. After a while ...

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