Creative Writing: Short Story

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“It was the first time that I had ever seen a grown man cry” Tuesday. 4th June 2006. 7 years of age. The day, my father… It was the first time that I had ever seen a grown man cry… My father is a soft-hearted father. Always caring and very paranoid. I don’t know why, well, I think I do. But I don’t. He is a good father. He loves us two quite a lot. I love him too. He gives me treats, spoils me with the gadgets and sometimes, gives her care. A lot of care. My father is a soft-hearted father and I like it. It was the most petrifying day I’ve experienced so far. I remember every second of it. Me and my dear Mum, was heading out for the re’Mark’able walk. My mum named it after my name, Mark. So, every Tuesday, we did the walk. It was the same old walk. Down at the end of our road, straight walk into the park and take a left to our town centre. And rarely, hop on the bus to visit Dad. We took the rare visit that day. The bus was overloaded with travellers. Or as my Mum would say, ‘Rushers’. My mum has a good sense of humour. We went pass the town centre and into the woods. There was only one bus stop there. And in that bus stop occurred a man. He was clothed, heavily. It was a gorgeous, hot day too. He looked exhausted, so I was kind enough to offer him my seat. He did not say thank you. Few stops on, he was pouring down with sweat. Mum was seating next to him while I was back in the crowd. Pushed away. He stood up. Without any hesitation he shouted,”Al Qaeda!” Everyone was momentarily distracted with the shouting but the threat did its duty. I gazed to see my mum blown up in a matter of seconds. An explosion of destruction arrived. Screams of help and misery were dimmed out by the explosion. I closed my eyes to look away from the suffering. I opened my eyes with little hope in me. My dad appeared within the corner of my eye. I closed my eyes, turned my head.

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