For The First Time

I can still remember the first time I wrote a story. I was 8 and it was summertime, and I was sitting under one of the flowerbushes in our backyard. 2 of my brothers were playing footbal in my mother's garden. My dad saw them and hollered for them to come inside. I stayed outside, and for a long time no one called for me. I hadn't bought out the pencil and paper planning to write a story, but to play tic-tac-toe with my friend Samantha, who had already gone home.

I remember how hot the day was, and how sleepy I felt. But I did not want to inside and take a nap. I sat under the bush, languidly waving away bees and mosquitos, and as my mind wandered, I thought about how quiet it was and how much I liked the quiet.I wished I was an only child so that I could have such peace all the time. I imagined what my life would be like then. It seemed so real to me I wrote it down, and then decided I wouldn't like being an only child. The girl in the story became another girl, and I wrote about how she spied on the kids next door who were part of a big family like mine.

It was actually a good little story. I finished a bunch of pages before my brothers came out again. Being nosy big brothers they demanded to know what I was doing, proceeded to snatch the pages out of my hands, and then laughed at my story and ripped it up. I was very angry, but not too upset because I figured I could write it down again later. I ran to tell on them however, and they got called in yet again. I was going to write the story down again but instead fell asleep under the flower bush.