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Writing from Life

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Writing from Life So, there I was, perched on the towering marble work-surface in the dim light shifting through our slit of a kitchen window, sobbing in a way that only a five year-old can. My dad was patting me reassuringly on the back, while my mum, mopping the constant cascade of tears, streaming from my leaky eyes, just like the water running from a waterfall and falling into the basin surrounding it, softly crooned reassuring comforts. Why, you ask? Well, for a five year-old the slightest hiccup is like trekking up the side of Mount Everest, but at the time I did not have the experience to know this, therefore, the gnawing fear at the back of my mind grew. The events that lead me to that work-surface happened during the opening week of 'Year One'. ...read more.


It was then that it happened. Staring at the white, shimmering gem on the contrasting jet black floor I realised just how wide of the mark I had been; about if I believed nothing was happening then nothing would. I was petrified, to me, as a five year-old, getting into trouble was about as formidable as the prospect to an adult of going inside on a life sentence. Shaking with fear about the likelihood of someone discovering it, I swiftly grabbed and concealed the incriminating piece of evidence. I was in a state of trepidation on the rollercoaster ride home, terrified at the prospect of someone discovering my undisclosed secret. Luckily, however, my childminder was far too preoccupied attempting to get away with doing forty m.p.h in a twenty mile zone. While, at the same time, texting her only friend about her 'lying, cheating ex of a boyfriend' - her words, not mine, to notice the colossal gap which had miraculously appeared in the front of my mouth. ...read more.


As I realised the futility of keeping up this charade indefinitely I burst into a flood of howling tears. This brings us back to where my tale of naivety began, with me, perched on the marble work-surface crying my eyes out. I then, gaspingly told them, through many sniffs and hiccups, the catastrophic events culminating in my precipitous disposal of the tooth. After much sympathy, and cake, my parents managed to persuade me that it was completely normal to lose teeth around my age; lots of children did; that they would grow back bigger and better than ever; and no, I was not becoming an outcast. Nor would I need the hideous denchers my Granddad constantly left perching predatorily on dusty window sills around our house. Then my dad went through the entire mass of garbage at some lengths to try and locate the tooth I had so foolishly earlier pitched into its murky depths. However it eluded him. Nevertheless the 'tooth fairy' still came. ...read more.

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