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Short Story Coursework - Memories

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Introduction

Memories By Amelia Horgan 10c We, as humans are a nostalgic breed, our memories are very important to us; we live to tell and retell our stories. These secure our futures and anchor our pasts. There are, or seem to be, three types of memory. Firstly there are our treasured memories, polished pearls glistening just beneath the surface of our thoughts. These are often taken out and admired and then put back on the shelves of our minds like well thumbed books. Then there are the thoughts we don't like to think, our deepest regrets, our most horrific horrors. These are locked away in strong dusty trunks in the corners of our minds and when stumbled across they can have devastating effects. Finally there are the memories that seem to take us back in time; these make the old feel young and the young feel old. These memories aren't organized or filed but find you when you least expect them; they are always lurking around dark corridors in old houses, hiding in the notes of songs, creeping through words of poems, trapped in bottles of perfume waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and throw you. ...read more.

Middle

But what if this would have a pernicious effect, maybe I would remember all that had been and wish that nothing had changed. Would I grow to hate this ill fated journey into my past? detest this foray into what was? No. I calmed my fears. I am a different person now. The girl who lived in that house was not me. She was a little child with my name, my family and who possessed a striking resemblance to me. Most likely nothing would come of my adventure. Nothing. Nothing would change. Nothing would move on. Yet I still carried on walking. As I neared my destination it struck me that I would have to walk along the more dangerous stretch of paving tiles and asphalt. This was good. I liked the pound shops and run down greasy spoons. This is what London should feel like. I traversed this section slowly, taking in all the sights, sounds and smells. I know that this will all be soon gone. ...read more.

Conclusion

Christmas. Standing on chairs to hang up paper chains I had made. The first book I ever read. My school uniform laid out, ready for me. Racing my brother along the road. When my mother broke her arm. The fridge. Having milk heated up for me. Getting ready to go to Hampstead Heath. Thousands of relatives visiting from all over the world. Pictures I had drawn. My old bedroom. The old sofas. My old hopes and dreams. I was overwhelmed, engulfed by these memories. My legs started to shake. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I felt tired. I felt very much awake. I was as old as the world. I was as a young as a newborn baby. This was everything. This was nothing. I was alive. I soon became aware that I was not alone. An old woman, dressed in drab grey clothes with drab grey hair looked at me with worried, tired eyes. "Are you alright dearie?" she asked, her voice saturated with pity and concern. "I'm fine. I don't know what happened to me just then. Thank you." I said, mustering up my friendliest smile. She smiled back, nodded and walked off. I looked down at my watch. I was late. ...read more.

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