A/N 4.13.13: Um, I don't know how I forgot that Amanda did NOT have foster parents when she was younger...
This is on here because it's plain, boring, and doesn't live up tot how I imagined it. Rewrite, maybe?
I got such an amazing response from this, and I really do appreciate that. Thanks to all readers ;)
Here's Second Swing to the Right, written in the days of Amanda Katrice Granger...enjoy!
Here's something's that been inside me for exactly a year :)
Last night I went to the place where this formed (which was legit down to the numbers a year ago) and finally put a plot behind it.
I'm not the world champion of angsty-depressing-eerie stuff, although I do find it easy to write. Which is fairly creepy, because I am not a angst filled-sad-weird girl. Well, the weird part is true. But you get what I mean.
I do hope this flows correctly. The beginning was the hardest for me. I guess that's a good start...'cause endings are my worst. Am I getting better?
Thanks for listening to my rambling…and enjoy!
SCHEDULE CHANGE: This is the day I'll be updating on through the school year. HP stuff will be updated Thursday. Thanks!
Second Swing to the Right
Amanda P.O.V.
When I was younger, the foster parents I lived with would take all of the girls to the park. Some kind of law required that we get physical activity. We would all pile into a school bus, and they would drive us to the playground by the beach.
The other girls would chase each other, giggling hysterically. All the while I was on the swing, getting higher and higher.
For six years, it was like that. The second swing to the right was my only friend at the time.
I was on the swing because I couldn't run fast. Those girls could. I had no chance against their speed.
For the whole entire forty-five minutes, I was on the swing. To this day, I still don't know if swinging is actual physical activity.
Then things changed.
I was forced to keep my eyes open every minute, squatting in whatever place could count as shelter for one or two nights. School was the only time I socialized normally. My sister had changed, and I was all by myself.
The loneliness reminded me of the being on the swing, no one else around me.
More changed as I met the person that brought feelings that I still haven't been able to sort out, the feelings that I don't know what to think of.
I can still hear the creaking of the old swing, rocking back and forth as I pushed off.
I was running from the feelings one night when I realized my speed. It was then that I knew I could run quick.
So why don't the problems leave me when I try to chase them away?
Whenever I walk by that same park, isolated most of the time, I look away when the swings come into view.
I chased away my young conflicts with a playground entertainment tool. Now I sprint full speed, knowing that it only gets harder.
Review?
