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Forgiven - creative writing.

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Forgiven "Sorry!" I cried out apologetically as I streamed past a group of rather annoyed looking students - one of whom I had accidentally hit with the side of my briefcase. 'That's it,' I thought irately 'Note to self...' whipping out a secretary inside my own head, 'Next time one was going to go the coffee house for one's cappuccino, one would make sure it would be after all the sleepless crammers of the neighbouring university had had theirs!' As I walked up to the counter, which displayed an advert for a free double-chocolate muffin with every third latt´┐Ż, I looked round for Chun-Lei; one of the waitresses who knew me well. "Hey Melanie!" someone chirped from my side of the counter, looking round I was met with Chun-lei's familiar face. " That workmate of yours... um ... what's-his-name..' "You mean Dean" I chimed in, "Yeah... does he have some kind of problem with waitresses?" "Don't take it personally, he's just like that with people in general," I laughed as she walked round to other side of the counter. "Thing is, he ordered a cappuccino with a light shake of chocolate first, but when I gave it to him he started to yell saying that he ordered a cup of coffee and boomed into a conversation about whether or not he looked like a cappuccino man," "Sounds about right" I mused to her slightly offended looking face. ...read more.


A C.I.D. officer arrived shortly after. He had questions, a camera and a tape measure. "How fast were you driving?" he asked. This question would root itself in his soul. How fast had he been driving? He remembered he'd speeded up to pass the old man, and then slowed. He hadn't checked his speedometer. He thought he'd slowed to let the clattering truck get past and then begun to accelerate as he pulled over to pass the cyclist. He did not know how fast he had been driving and he could not know for sure... ever. Driving to the Police station to fill out an accident form he wondered if he would have to go to jail. To a man who had lived all his life in the wide, open Yorkshire dales, this was a daunting prospect. On the contrary, the police officer told him he was free to go, just stay in touch. That wasn't enough for dad. He had to speak to the boy's family. The officer said he would probably need to clear it with the investigating inspector. Dad waited a day, in which every moment tortured him, before he got the phone call from the officer. As were the conditions, the officer drove him to the family's farm. The house was filled with people. His mother was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by lots of other women, probably friends and relatives, lamenting the loss of her son with murky tear-stained cheeks. ...read more.


I can only assume it was a trapped feeling of my own, the sorrow of lost hope I had felt when I could not reach out to him, the impossibly handsome father whom I had so once adored, but for whatever reason - I remember letting flow a silent torrent of tears. Suddenly attentive again, I turned towards the nursery and managed to park the car in an empty space, before I dashed out in the direction of the nursery, noticing I was 10 minutes late. "Mummy!" someone shouted from afar. "Oh Lolly," I said as I hugged and picked her up. "Sorry for being late!" I turned to say apologetically to the assistant. "No problem, we didn't mind did we Lolly?" I turned around, Lolly holding onto my hand and sat down into the leather car. Then it hit me. What if that ever happened to Lolly's dad or me? Or maybe even one day, to Lolly? How would we cope? Then I remembered my dad and how one day, he sat me down and told me the story as I recalled the story now. I can't really think why he had - I had never showed curiosity towards it. But thinking about it now - as a mother, it became clearer to me. To show me, if ever I needed to be rescued, to be salvaged from the ominous feeling of guilt he had once felt, that God did forgive and then with that assurance maybe we could learn to forgive ourselves. ...read more.

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