Hello, everybody! this is my third story and the first I plan to release in chapters. You might or might not understand the theme of the story, but if you feel like it, you can give me a critique. Every suggestion is welcome. The theme of hope wanted is the daily life of a boy as he lives his life and writes everything in his blog. (I wont specify name and age since I plan a little wordplay in the chapters to come.) To make a long story short, click "like" or make a comment encouraging me for more chapters if you think this prelude is worth completion. Otherwise, I can always start a new story. Thank you in advance.
Dear blog, This is the first time I post something mine here. I'm nervous and dunno what to say. I guess I should tell you about myself first. Or maybe you would like something else. A story perhaps? I got it, I will confide in you the most painful memory I have. It was Christmas eve, me and dad went to buy cake for dinner. Oh, how I loved cake when I was a kid. My sister was waiting for us inside the car in the opposite side of the street. When we entered the shop, it was like heaven down on earth. Did I mention I used to love cake? Finally, after some time we left the bakery and prepared to cross the road. My sister left the car and standing at the edge of the road she opened her arms. I tried to run to her but my father kept holding my little hand tightly, reminding me that it was not safe to cross the road. But, I could see her spreading her arms, prepared for giving me a hug. Why wasn't my father letting me run to her? She was standing right there. The next thing that I remember is that I did the only thing a seven year old knows how to do well. I slipped my dad's arm and ran straight to the warm hug waiting for me. Never mind the mask of horror that took over my sister's kind face. I ignored my dad's voice calling me back. Why should I? It was Christmas and soon we would be home. All my cousins would be there and I would proudly show them all my new toys, Then we would all sit for dinner and taste my aunt's supreme cooking. Then we would eat cake and the following morning Santa would give me my yearly present. It was as perfect as the word of a seven year old child could get. But why does my sister cry? I mean I am going to hug her, maybe I am not running fast enough to reach her. And then I feel it. It was like I didn't had a body, really you might not believe me but for seconds I could fly. Before I was grounded again. Then I heard a scream. It gave me a chill and I started crying, It was something I could do splendidly well. Of course, I tried to turn around and locate the source of that sound. But I couldn't , my sister was closing my eyes. I could hear her screaming and felt warm tears against her cold skin.
My dad died that day, died in order for me to live. If he hadn't thrown me from the car's path that day I would be lying dead in the asphalt instead.
Dear blog, see you tomorrow.
Welcome to Young Writers Society! 