VIP A/N: School has been hectic since I had the flu and took two days off. I have a major backlog of homework and one of those being a story about a memory in my life that I remember. Before I turn this paper in, I need your guys' help. I want you to grade me on the six traits of writing (ideas, voice, organization, conventions, sentence fluency, voice, and word choice) Rate them 1-6, 6 being the best and give me reasons why you gave me that score. How to improve is also required. Please refrain from leaving a 'good job' 'bad job' 'nice' 'sucks' comments. They don't help me improve, I want specifics. Tell me what you liked or disliked. How did I make you feel? If you saw anything while reading the story. Please! My mom has already read it and thinks I did a good job, now I want your opinions! SPREAD THE WORD! I NEED AS MUCH HELP AS THERE IS IN THIS WORLD!
Everything in this story is the exact copy as my paper except for the names. We're going to play the pretend game. I don't know if the hula teacher gives his kids a playground for recess, but pretend he does. Pretend Myrtle WAS Lilo's friend until she got more popular with the other girls or something. This was something that really happened to me when I was a 6th grader, so Lilo may be out of character since this story is my POV. Okay? Thanks and enjoy! GIVE ME ADVICE AND GRADES!
The days of my past are hazy, but the playground is a vivid image. I can remember the lonely swing creaking as it rocks back and forth. The swing with chains hooked on each side-the seat dark and scorching hot in the wrath of the sun. Why do I remember the lonely swing when there were some exhilarating rides down the slide? I suppose depressing memories devours the happier ones as they are more difficult to forget.
I can imagine the playground clearly. The massive poles stabbing the lot of soft, golden sand. The cold bars of the ladder that grants access to the gleaming slides. The soggy, grassy, field as I raced across the emerald blades, accompanied once by a friend, not anymore.
My hand tightens into a curled fist as I watch afar. The traitor and my supposed ally walking alongside each other, engrossed in conversation. The immature child in me wanted to scream at them, but I refrained. I averted my teary gaze to the crumpled paper trapped in the fury of my hand. I gingerly unfold it, meticulous as not to tear it. My hands shook as they scaled down the calloused sheet. Writings were concealed by the attacking smudges. The pencil shading light as though the led had merely ghosted over it. I attempted to smooth it out, but the dents were still there, as though it were destined to be an engraved reminder for my recklessness.
"I'm going to hang out with Myrtle for a little bit." I remember Victoria saying to me just moments ago.
"Why?" I scowled bitterly.
"Because she said she needed to tell me something… important." She responded sheepishly, as though I were a tiger preparing to lunge at her. "Look, I know you don't get along with Myrtle, but she's still my friend and I'm going to be there for her. I'll see you later! I promise!"
Later? Humph! Did she mean later as in tomorrow? Time is slipping by like sand through fingers. Laughter is all around me, but why is none of it coming from me? They're still talking with each other, still walking a lap around the backstop. How many times have they rounded that thing! I scream to myself in the privacy of my mind.
Off towards the distance, I see Victoria's silky hair fly to the side to glance at me. I grinned in relief, is she done talking? Then I see Myrtle's claws latch onto Victoria's arm like a persistent leech and tugged her away. Witch. I sniffed as tears cascaded my cheeks. I turn my head away as not to show my nemesis weakness. My vision distorts all I see are colorful blurs jumping around. Mingled with those blurs, I am able to make out teachers stepping up.
I brought the palm of my hand to my eyes, wiping away the intervening water droplets. I felt as though someone shoved a ten pound weight into my stomach. Those teachers have whistles. Five more minutes until it's time to go in. I whimpered and looked back, hoping to see my friend bouncing to me and asking merrily what we should do for the last five minutes. No. Instead, I see her still with Myrtle.
C'mon Victoria… You promised me… Don't hurt me like Myrtle…
I hear a boisterous shriek and I close my eyes in sorrow. My hand curls around the paper, crumpling it once more. I swung my book bag over my shoulder and followed the crowd of kids exiting the playground. Angrily, I tossed the crumpled paper in the dark bottom of the trashcan, and with it, my trust.