Creative writing essay by Ethan (20)
When I was a child, I well remembered during my little years of life, I pushed my friend into a pool, and he punished me severely.
It was at my condominium pool, and I was swimming with my father. The pool was unusually empty, so my dad and I had plenty of space to play. Just as my father was standing beside the deep pool enjoying life, I decided to push him inside. With a heave, I threw him into the pool. That was the worst mistake alive. My parents found out and sent me to bed. I begged and begged, but to no avail. I got sent to bed for an hour.
I reluctantly dragged my feet to my bedroom. The sun shone into my bedroom, and a patch on my bed was scorching. I changed as slowly as possible to kill time, then slumped onto my bed, waiting for that hour to pass so that I could continue playing with my friend.
Nighttime soon arrived. I jolted up. The room was silent; I could faintly hear my heartbeat. With dismay, I fell into a troubled doze.
Not long later, I felt a pair of gentle, soft hands holding mine. It felt comforting, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to escape from this moment, my reverie.
I woke up, the next morning. Who could it be that held my hand in my reverie? I asked my parents, but they said they did not. Till today, I am still puzzled about the shadowy figure.
When I was a child, I well remembered during my little years of life, I pushed my friend into a pool, and he punished me severely.
It was at my condominium pool, and I was swimming with my father. The pool was unusually empty, so my dad and I had plenty of space to play. Just as my father was standing beside the deep pool enjoying life, I decided to push him inside. With a heave, I threw him into the pool. That was the worst mistake alive. My parents found out and sent me to bed. I begged and begged, but to no avail. I got sent to bed for an hour.
I reluctantly dragged my feet to my bedroom. The sun shone into my bedroom, and a patch on my bed was scorching. I changed as slowly as possible to kill time, then slumped onto my bed, waiting for that hour to pass so that I could continue playing with my friend.
Nighttime soon arrived. I jolted up. The room was silent; I could faintly hear my heartbeat. With dismay, I fell into a troubled doze.
Not long later, I felt a pair of gentle, soft hands holding mine. It felt comforting, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to escape from this moment, my reverie.
I woke up, the next morning. Who could it be that held my hand in my reverie? I asked my parents, but they said they did not. Till today, I am still puzzled about the shadowy figure.
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