Creative Writing- the Lake
English Creative Writing
The soft cushions, the filtered light fell upon the faded, dusty dark carpet.
“She was a good woman, your Grandmother, she taught me a lot,” said Jenna, trying to comfort me in my despair.
I didn’t reply because it would encourage more of her pointless words of sympathy, adding to the awkwardness of the situation.
“Would you like to hear about our experience at the lake in the summer of 1965?” Jenna exclaimed. Although I did not want more pathetic words of comfort, this comment intrigued me and the temptation was too great to not hear her story.
“No I haven’t, please go on…” I replied, trying not to act excited, when in fact, I was twitching with anticipation, mainly because I did not know what my Grandma was like before I was born.
“It was January 24th of 1965, and we had spent most of the day together with Geoff; your grandfather. We were sitting of the faded beachwood porch drinking lemonade and listening to the horse races on the my new radio. Through the air drifted the hot sweet scent of a batch of your Grandmother’s scones.”
I remembered her scones, A lifetime spent making these scones ensured their delectable integrity, and just hearing of her scones again was enough to spur my saliva into action.
“On the porch, the blistering sun pierced the gauze, and hammered onto our skin. As our skin sizzled, it was only normal to lather large amounts of coconut oil onto the skin; producing the crispy, golden glow which was a major trend in those days. We lit our cigarettes, inhaling the bitter taste of tobacco, our tongues glossed with tar.
Now I look back on those days not regretful, but admiring our innocence; innocent due to our little worry in the world.
“Who wants to go to the lake today?” Geoff exclaimed, reassuring I wasn’t the only one sweltering in this heat.
“Sure, why not? The water would work wonders for my exhaustion. So we packed up the bathers and packed the Kombi with some fresh cream, strawberry jam and the batch of
The soft cushions, the filtered light fell upon the faded, dusty dark carpet.
“She was a good woman, your Grandmother, she taught me a lot,” said Jenna, trying to comfort me in my despair.
I didn’t reply because it would encourage more of her pointless words of sympathy, adding to the awkwardness of the situation.
“Would you like to hear about our experience at the lake in the summer of 1965?” Jenna exclaimed. Although I did not want more pathetic words of comfort, this comment intrigued me and the temptation was too great to not hear her story.
“No I haven’t, please go on…” I replied, trying not to act excited, when in fact, I was twitching with anticipation, mainly because I did not know what my Grandma was like before I was born.
“It was January 24th of 1965, and we had spent most of the day together with Geoff; your grandfather. We were sitting of the faded beachwood porch drinking lemonade and listening to the horse races on the my new radio. Through the air drifted the hot sweet scent of a batch of your Grandmother’s scones.”
I remembered her scones, A lifetime spent making these scones ensured their delectable integrity, and just hearing of her scones again was enough to spur my saliva into action.
“On the porch, the blistering sun pierced the gauze, and hammered onto our skin. As our skin sizzled, it was only normal to lather large amounts of coconut oil onto the skin; producing the crispy, golden glow which was a major trend in those days. We lit our cigarettes, inhaling the bitter taste of tobacco, our tongues glossed with tar.
Now I look back on those days not regretful, but admiring our innocence; innocent due to our little worry in the world.
“Who wants to go to the lake today?” Geoff exclaimed, reassuring I wasn’t the only one sweltering in this heat.
“Sure, why not? The water would work wonders for my exhaustion. So we packed up the bathers and packed the Kombi with some fresh cream, strawberry jam and the batch of