I'm Issy.
I'm 14 and an aspiring artist and author.
Black Lives matter.
Bi puns
Murder mystery TV shows
Shakespeare poetry
I can't even be bothered writing them all down
Have a nice day

Message from Writer

Remember to write even if you think you are bad at it, you're not

My Home

February 24, 2021

a descriptive piece about your favorite city/place without revealing the location! That's for your readers to guess!

You can get to the city in just five kilometers if you live in the suburbs. Compared to where I live now (where it's an hours drive), that's so tiny. I never thought it was a short distance before. 
    The cardboard cathedral. Iconic, yet still a lasting reminder of all the wreckage and death this city's been through. The cardboard looks like giants' toilette rolls, supporting the cathedral. I would say what religion the cathedral is, but I don't know. I really should learn about the city I call home. The cathedral has beautiful stained-glass pictures for windows. 
    I remember the river, with ducks whom the city-goers fed (and one very lost seal). I used to feed the ducks frozen peas, like the woman at the wild-life place told us. I also used to tell off my friends for feeding them bread. God, I was a pushy child. 
    In the inner-city, near that big thing the shape of a waffle cone but really tall, there used to be icecream stands, selling freshly made berry icecream. The thing (whatever it was, a sculpture of sorts) had a paten of flowers. When my sister and I used to yell at the base of it, we could swear it worked like a giant megaphone. Children are so blissfully ignorant. 
    That was the city. 
    I liked the suburbs. I remember where my best friend lived (and still does). The first thing I thought about that place was that the name sounded like a shell. I remember Maddi sitting on the couch, reading a book I had just read, when we arrived at her house for the first time. I think we (her, my sister, and I) all knew at that moment, consciously or not, that we would never stop being friends. Her suburb was beautiful, mystical, and everything seemed to have a rich history of which we knew nothing. Maddi told us stories about witches and warlocks and spells. There was a little creek behind her house. We jumped it. I also distinctly remember trespassing by mistake in the woods, tripping on a rock and scraping my knee, and Maddi's mother being very annoyed.
    Brockworth Cottage. That place was beautiful, and so haunted and enchanted, it almost made me believe in magic. Living in a holiday house for at least a month, when we'd never met the owners, was slightly disconcerting. Even if the house had forget-me-nots in the garden and goldfish in a fountain. Ah, the goldfish. Plump, orange, and magical. I remember running into the house, delighted to have discovered something in the garden. 
    When we were at Brockworth Cottage, Maddi told us all about good witches and bad witches, and we invented powers four through twelve (to go with "the power of three can set us free"). I found it hard to sleep in Brockworth Cottage, there being space beside my bed, unlike at home where it was pushed against the wall. I remember thinking it would be easier to be an animal and not have thought through things like hauntings and other-worldy spirits.  
    Dad worked so much at Brockworth Cottage. He was getting a university degree. He spent hours holed up in the little wood-paneled office, Ciara and I bursting in at intervals to tell him about the goldfish or how there was a fireplace or that we were going to the park with Maddi later. 
    I remember our home. Small, single story, redbricks and cherry-blossoms. I read in Trixie Belden that their farm was called Crabapple Farm, and made a sign proclaiming our house "Cherry-blossom Swirl". Although I had the sort of idea, in practice my house name sounded more like an obscure icecream flavour. 
    And most of all, I remember the people. The hope. The joy. The innocence. How we had the same friends for years and did so much together. And the unfathomable amount of drama, considering we were ages five to eight. Maddi blew Jacob a kiss on the trampoline a birthday party and I never heard the end of it. 
    And the beach. It was grey and cold, with a sizable gun-metal-blue surf and a ginormous library behind it, in which Mum's highschool friend worked. Mum always says there a far nicer beaches, but I liked our one. It had a playground and waves and a peer. It was good. Maddi once got bitten on the toe by a crab, in one of the little pools made by the peer. The pools were holes in the sand of soughts, around each pole of the peer. Warmer and calmer than the ocean.


See History
  • February 24, 2021 - 12:41am (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.