My first fete, (And the death of our goldfish).

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Craig Anderson                                                11th October 2001

My first fete, (And the death of our goldfish)

The sun spread itself about my room, and lay gently upon my face. My brown eyes opened slowly, shiny like metal in the light. I gave a deep yawn and shifted myself into a more comfortable position where I could be just out of reach from the glow of the determined sun. I skipped out of bed energetically and wandered through my narrow hallway and into the kitchen. The smell of bacon drifted towards me, invigorating my body, stirring my senses. I spotted my mother and pleaded for a crisp crimson rasher. Her dark black hair bounced as she shook her head. “It’s too hot for you, and anyway you wouldn’t eat it all. “

        I turned away from her. I was heartbroken. The smell tormented me, and then crushed my spirits.

        My father walked through, carefully carrying my sister who gave a cry of delight at the smell. Recently, she had acquired a dangerous interest in cooking from the ever-glowing television. My parents had bought a chef’s play set for the serial killer, who plunged her pink spinning weapon into our fish tank and snatched the lives of six unsuspecting gold fish. There was one lone survivor, who witnessed his family being swept away by the merciless egg whisks. Sadly, Freddy died a week later.

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        Anyway, I munched through my bowl of crisp fruit puffs, staring at the toucan on the box. I got dressed and then went with my parents to the car. That day we were going to a local fete and South African weather was perfect for a fun day out. My father lifted me into the car, whilst his glasses slid off his nose.

        “When’s my birthday?” I pondered.

        “Soon, honey,” sighed my mother, trying to keep the sun from jabbing her in the eyes.

        When we arrived, I scraped at the car door, trying to escape the heat. Outside, small, ...

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