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The Trail. Hes not that affectionate, caring gentleman who would take me to Church every Sunday. Hes not my Da; not any more.

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By Venkat Rajasingham Year 8 Westminster Under The Trail The morning before, some neighbours had left bags lying torn and wrecked on the doormat. It was a beautiful day. The sun-kissed roses lay sleeping in the patio and the sweet aroma of eggs and sausages hung in the air. The children huddled like penguins in their bedroom and although it was quite hot retreated to their beds. They had the flu, or as Mr Pedantic used to call it, influenza. Ma always had to wake up really early in the morning to cook for him, but at least now that wasn?t the case. I ripped open the black sack and plunged my hand into the misty depths of the bag; it was full of unopened letters. ...read more.


I came back home expecting lunch to be ready; it normally was by now. It wasn?t today. Ma?s usual beautiful face was replaced by the sobbing yet angry face that I saw every day in the DC Universe comics. She didn?t know I was looking at her because I was staring through the frosted glass. I stormed into the room with a sense of anger; Ma usually didn?t get upset, so this was a first. She was reading the letters that had been deposited outside. It involved that man. I knew it. I was beginning to drown in a sense of terror and repulse, and with that I too began to fish in the black bag through the letters. ...read more.


Later on in the day I went to the local youth centre: it was the only place where I was gifted with a glint of freedom. Different people from different cultures and backgrounds would come to play football or watch films. The film today was ?The Return of The Giant Banana.? It was as exciting as watching ice melt. That was when it happened. The door opened and we were greeted by a strong winter breeze, and a man with a silly hat. I recognised the coat. I recognised the awful stench of tobacco. The man lifted his head, and he stared at me. He had a stubble and very neat hair, but his eyes were dead. I immediately recognised who he was. It was him. It was the devil. It was the thing that gave birth to me. I looked at him once. Twice. Three times. Then I ran. ...read more.

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