Today in writing class we did a 20 minute exercise, where we got to choose from a number of topics to practice writing creative nonfiction. The prompt I chose was: Isolate an outdoor space from your childhood. Write down every element you can remember in as much detail as possible. Take inventory objects in the space and of the effect on the five senses.
Given I strayed quite a lot from the directions, I'd still like to share the outcome here.
Wild space.
It couldn't have been very big, given it was located on an Island. But as seen through my child's eye, the sand dune was huge, going on for miles in each direction.
It was meant to be a family trip; my divorced parents making an effort for my brother and me. I remember it with that kind of vexed pleasure one gets from the mixed sensation of seeing something through the vague hazes of naive childhood memory, with all the current believes and emotions still attached, while at the same time filtered by and blended with the realisations derived from growing up.
I believed we where still a family back then, and continued to do so for many years. What happened in that obscurely small yet never ending dessert, not so much changed that fact as revealed it's true nature. But I do believe that's when it all started. That day when my dad and brother got lost in that strange wasteland; something I now realise should not have been possible.
For days afterwards, me and mom would pester them with questions of what had happened out there, but neither of them adhered to our concern. Dad became more and more distant and my brother stopped speaking almost completely for awhile. All I know is that after their disappearance in that desert, things had changed. They simply didn't bother to pretend anymore.
Given I strayed quite a lot from the directions, I'd still like to share the outcome here.
Wild space.
It couldn't have been very big, given it was located on an Island. But as seen through my child's eye, the sand dune was huge, going on for miles in each direction.
It was meant to be a family trip; my divorced parents making an effort for my brother and me. I remember it with that kind of vexed pleasure one gets from the mixed sensation of seeing something through the vague hazes of naive childhood memory, with all the current believes and emotions still attached, while at the same time filtered by and blended with the realisations derived from growing up.
I believed we where still a family back then, and continued to do so for many years. What happened in that obscurely small yet never ending dessert, not so much changed that fact as revealed it's true nature. But I do believe that's when it all started. That day when my dad and brother got lost in that strange wasteland; something I now realise should not have been possible.
For days afterwards, me and mom would pester them with questions of what had happened out there, but neither of them adhered to our concern. Dad became more and more distant and my brother stopped speaking almost completely for awhile. All I know is that after their disappearance in that desert, things had changed. They simply didn't bother to pretend anymore.
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