F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Cabin-Personal Narrative

It was another early morning in the Cabin for Greg, he can feel the light glittering upon his face and sees the bright glow through his eyelids. He slowly opens his eyes to the bright world that he was in. He hears the sound of a car starting up out the front of the Cabin, he knows what day today is, Sunday. The smell of the fresh country air drifts him downstairs and toward the kitchen as if he was thinking with his nose. The cupboard glides open and he helps himself to his daily bowl of Honey and Oats. He slightly opened the window to feel the refreshing breeze gush past his face, “what a beautiful Sunday!” he said to himself.
Whilst He was admiring the country air the floor boards began to creak behind him. The hinges of the door squeak and the curtains started to flatter along the floor. “Good morning Gregory Dear, I forgot my wallet I
need to go back to the market.” Said Greg’s Mother from the brink of the door. He was shocked that his mother had made such a silly mistake such as that, “It’s alright Mum just don’t take too long ok? I’ll meet you at the park like we usually do.” Replied Greg with a cheeky grin on his face. Greg lunged to the door to wave goodbye to his Mother, but she was already gone, the glitter of her hair and her beautiful aroma left with her as she turned the corner. For some odd reason our dog Buster started barking again, he’s been doing this for two years now.
He rushed back inside and grabbed the remote for their new television, he turned on the news channel and sat back down to the rest of his oats and honey. “Good morning citizens of Maryville I am Stephanie Harvard, and I will be reporting for you today. Here in Maryville today marks the two-year anniversary of the fatal car crash on the T-Junction of Gaithersberg Road. Luckily 3 of the 4 victims were left with only minor injuries, whereas the 4th victims had heart failure while on the way to the hospital. Today at Roswell cemetery there will be an annual ceremony to pay our respects to this lovely lady.
He switched off the television and headed upstairs to take a shower before he had to go meet his mother at the park.
He turned on the hot water and balanced it out with some cold water and then undressed. He stepped into the shower and started to wash himself. The water was running down his face as if he was crying. He peered into the mirror through the glass pane on the shower door, it was him, trapped. He leant back and reached for the pink soap that was on the shower shelf, he was reaching left and right and couldn’t feel the soap, he turned around and it wasn’t there. He was confused because his Mum always had soap sitting on that shelf that was strange. She must have forgot again.
He walked out of the shower with a towel around his body and went straight into his room to get dressed. He put on his dry, warm clothes that had just came out of the dryer. He peered over to his bedside table where his phone was resting and gently pushed down the home button. The screen was alight, but there was no message from his Mother. Usually she always sends a text to check up just in case he might be late, that just what she always
does.
He was starting to feel concerned, but then he thought to himself that everybody forgets things, maybe she just isn’t having a good day. He rushed downstairs and opened the front door, he pulled out his keys and unlocked his car, and he was ready to leave. He took a left and headed down the main the road, the park where he was meeting his mother is at the end of the road, the traffic was dead, so there was no rush. His car screeched as he decelerated to turn into the carpark. He got out and casually walked through the front gate.
He was sitting on the bench where he usually met his mother, she wasn’t there. She’s never late, not for this. He stood up and looked around the park, he saw a concrete slab with the aroma of freshly picked roses. He headed towards it and moved one of the roses sitting on the top of the slab, the engraving read “In memory of beloved mother of one, Bethany Johnson.” He started remembering. Rain started slowly drizzling from the skies above, and nothing but the reflection of Greg was left in the dark puddle.