My Childhood All Over Again!
I stepped out of my crimson door, and stood under the eaves of my porch, with a no longer oak brown welcome mat resting under my feet. I looked out across the vermillion horizon to see the sky raining ropes. The sky reminded me of a doll I owned when I was younger. I popped open my umbrella and began my morning trek to my idea of torture, work.
I glanced left and right, before stepping into the road. I was halfway across the road when a car at full speed, turned the corner. I sprinted to the other side of the street as fast as I could. But it obviously wasn’ t enough as I didn’ t blink again until I was in another world that was so normal yet so extraordinary.
My struggle felt real as I lifted my eyelids, and looked around to see a small, young girl playing with a little doll with braided ginger hair. My mind went blank, but then I remembered that when I was younger, I had a doll which was indistinguishable from the one this little girl had. I heard a faint noise coming from down the stairs saying,“ Rebecca, dinner is ready!” I followed the girl down the stairs and into the small velvet kitchen. Laid on the table were two plates with sausages and beans.
After they had eaten their dinner, Rebecca made her way up the stairs singing a song that filled a little space in my heart. Before going to bed, the girl got on her knees and clasped her hands together bowing to a faint picture of a man in a battlefield. The man was quite young with a green hat perched on his oak hair, and in his hand lay a gun.
A droplet of water gathered in her eye and then ran down her cheek dropping onto the picture. She quickly swiped the tear off and climbed into bed and cuddled her doll as if it was trying to escape.
This small snip of the girl ' s life would not slip from my mind, as it reminded me of the passing of my dad in the Iraq war when I was nine.
In the morning, Rebecca slid on her slippers and made her way to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. Her dry, pale hand stretched high, whilst on her tippy toes reaching for the cereal. She just about managed to tip the cereal into her hands as she let out a heavy sigh. She stared into the fridge which was almost as empty as a desert except for the three-quarter empty milk carton. She carefully and slowly tipped the milk over the cereal and grabbed a spoon.
The reason the sight felt so realistic and heartwarming, was because that little girl was me!
Madeleine Kalaher
8