Todays’ assignment: Today, tell us about the home you lived in when you were twelve. The twist: pay attention to — and vary — your sentence lengths.
Last night I dreamt I returned to… Part 1
Perhaps it all began the day I stood outside my door, my previous door, my ex-door, my late door, my long-lost door, my unforgettable door, my beloved door, my childhood door, my magical door, my timeless door, my door. My time portal.
How do you call a door that was once yours and is now someone else’s? A door that shut out the rest of the world and kept you safe and warm and happy; a door that closed in the smell of fairy cakes, and toast, and butter, and twirls of smoke melting into the sitting-room ceiling, and cut grass wafting in from the garden… and my mother’s laughter, and my father’s quiet smiles as he hid behind the broadsheet and peeked his eyes over the top to greet me when I came in throwing my satchel on the floor and rushing into the kitchen to hug mum, who was always bending over cooking something delicious in the oven.
Never more. Never again. Never.
Last night I dreamt I returned to… the home I lived in when I was twelve. Someone else was living there. It was no longer my house. There was no point in going back, so I stood outside the door for a while… remembering, and then I turned and left.
End of today’s assignment.
I’ve tried hard not to be too sentimental, or present a description of a house. I’ve also concentrated on varying sentence length, but I have mixed feelings about how it’s worked out. What do you think?
Have a look at some of the other posts