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Autobiography; Writing imaginatively.

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One of my first childhood memories was when I received the news that my mum was going to have a baby. As you can expect, all sorts of things went through my mind... Where was she going to get it? How much would it cost? Would I have to SHARE? I'm sure I never recalled seeing babies for sale or them on offer in the shop; all I ever saw were big expensive toys and 'tour' style ride around the supermarket in a trolley, which can I add seemed to me like a roller coaster. After I had received the news, I began to go into shutdown; Hide the toys, line my soldier figures up for battle, "GET UNDER MY BED COVERS! " I screamed in my mind. I felt betrayed - new babies smelt, they cried, they were little horrible attention seekers who stole and didn't play. To top it off, when mum said that the baby would be coming sometime around Christmas time I thought, Oh no! I didn't ask for a baby for Christmas, I asked for Lego!. For the next couple of weeks I thought I had done something drastically wrong; simply what had I done to deserve this? I used to shout, hoping it would somehow click in my mum's mind that this was NOT what I wanted. It was awful; I was going to have to share my toys. ...read more.


As my brother hadn't yet started school, he loitered around home all day, but this day in particular was like no other. Somehow, nobody knows, he got hold of a box of matches and thought it would be funny to set fire to a stack of newspapers. As the fire spread, the whole kitchen was engulfed in flames and in no time, the whole kitchen interior was totally ruined. It resulted in many hours of renovation, labour and gut-wrenching bills. Although I was six miles in the opposite direction, at school, inevitably, I got the blame. I have no idea why, maybe it was something to do with me leaving a box of 200 'safety' matches around the night before. As far I was concerned, I would have got the blame if I was on a separate planet, but yet again, I would have to pay for the crime. Three months grounding was my punishment although as again, Georgie got away with everything. Slowly but surely, life had to go on whether or not I liked it. Unfortunately it didn't get better; as my brother got older and older, he got worse and worse... As he learnt to walk, he learnt to fight. As he learnt to talk, he learnt to talk for himself (a very bad thing!). As he learnt to 'coincidentally' like the toys I liked, I reluctantly learnt to 'share', but what he didn't know was that I never shared - and I wasn't standing for it. ...read more.


The story began when a normal daily bath became a nightmare from hell. My mum was washing my brother and for a brief period of time, she left him unattended in the room for just a few minutes, to gather his clothing together. As she walked out, I ran in - wishing to play with him to cure my boredom, and all I saw when I reached down to give him a toy was a lifeless bubbling body floating in the tub. Straight away I reacted and grabbed him out while screaming to mum," HE'S d-d-d-d-dead! ". I frantically struggled and pushed his chest in and out like in the movies in an effort to beat the race against time to save his bitter sweet life. After a while after mum had worked on him he started breathing and although I didn't realize it at that point, I had saved his life! Soon after, paramedics rushed in I was hailed the hero at the scene. From that point on I began to appreciate my brother and gradually he began to get better and better as he got older and older. In conclusion, there are too many stories to mention and so this leads to the present date; I'm fifteen, happy (kind of) and still with a ten year old pest of a little brother called Georgie. As I think about it, he isn't that little anymore and I'll tell you now, he can definitely give me a taste of my own medicine! Oh and also, he still gets away with EVERYTHING! ...read more.

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