Life In The Lake-Personal Narrative

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Creative Writing Piece: At the age of twelve I was taken away. Packaged and sent off to another life. My prescribed life was over and split into three. My two brothers were sent away too. Away from me, and away from our old childhood upbringing in rural Huntersville just an hour and a half west of Orange. It would be another fifty-five years until I see George and a further fifty-eight years until I see my eldest brother Harry, again. Life in rural Huntersville was unimaginable in my eyes. Riding on the motorbikes, swimming in the lake, driving the tractors, rounding up the cattle and the late night bomb fires Harry, George and I use to share including our song and dance sessions and our stories of what nonsense we use to hear. Harry, George…show more content…
I sit down without saying a word. In the background I hear the door knocking. Harder and harder every knock. Harry and George asked, “Who was that?” I told them so calmly that it was a lady coming to take us away. Take us away to a new life, far from here and a life far different from what we had experienced. Their faces told it all. A sense of disbelief and a sense that all our memories in this house would be torn to bits. We all started to cry. Meanwhile the lady alongside some men came around the back and opened the door. We ran but had nowhere to run. They caught us and carried us to their vans in which we were each individually placed, separately. We screamed out the names of each other, hoping just hoping for a response. This would be the last time we hear and see each other for fifty-eight…show more content…
I thought to myself of the whereabouts of Harry and George and I feared and hoped that they were ok. My quest was to find them. With support from Sean (dad) and Melissa (mum) I started my search throughout Australia but I targeted Queensland and Victoria as I believed they may have been taken there. I entered information and sent out numerous flyers across Australia. My search for my family went on for forty-two years when I got an email from a George Davis living in far North-Queensland in Townsville. It was him. I knew it from the tone in his speech. He spoke as he did when we were young. So gentle and so friendly. He had also been looking for me for over forty years too and we arranged to meet. We had our whole lives that we missed of each other to tell. Our love and friendship for each other didn’t end when I was twelve it has gone one for all our

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