Imagehere is a piece of writing that i did that i thought i would share.

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The Swing lulls me as it goes back and forth. Its steady rhythm creates a sort of piece within me as I stare out at the woodland that surrounds the lonely, paint chipped swing long forgotten and replaced by computers and video games.

As I stare at the trees, there autumn leaves soundlessly floating to the ground in the cold breeze; I think about what it would be like to escape. To just get up and go. I will not lie. I have thought about it, about just going home packing a bag and leaving, but what would be the point, I wouldn’t make it nearly half as far as what I would like. I would be dragged home to my father. And then suffer the consequences.   

I have dreamed about it, living out in the woods. The animals and the trees my only companions. The only time I can dream about my life away from life is at the swing. My mind wonders as my trainers drag across the worn concrete.

“You’re too old to day dream” I get told when I’m caught staring at the wall “you should be doing the cleaning”. And when I’m scribbling in my notebook “you should be out doing something useful instead of writing some crap!”

“Since when was 15 to old” I answer back. Which I regret each time but for the few seconds that the words flow from my tongue I feel like I have proved him wrong.

HA! You would have thought I had learned by now.

There’s always an answer from him, an excuse that makes me sound like some low life and then he would bring up my mum. Before he says more I run from the house. Dragging on my hoodie and worn trainers. To the swing.  This is where I take out the picture. I never leave anywhere without it.

A woman with blonde flowing hair is sat on a wooden chair. Her Blue eyes ablaze with joy, her lips stretched in a warm smile, white straight teeth in view. And on her knee is a boy. With matching blue eyes and blonde hair, his arms around her neck in a strangling hug. The mother son bond visible in their faces.

My mother and my brother, both taken from me.  My mother was the one who told me about the swings. It was the last thing she had said to me.

There had been a car crash and my little brother hadn’t survived. He was only 7. We were at the hospital, my mother lay in a bed. My father had gone for a smoke. I was 12 at the time. I was sat on the chair next to the bed when my mother said my name.

“Jude” her weak voice called.

“I need to tell you something before it’s too late” I nodded my head about to ask what but mum cut in.

“I’m going to leave soon. I’m going to be going with your little brother Jake, he needs me to look after him and I know you will be brave but I want you to know I will never leave you.”

“But mum I need you to” was all I said I was at the age where I knew what she was talking about.”

“I know Jude. just remember this” she paused there and took a deep breath. I can see her face in my mind, the life draining from her eyes as she struggled to tell me one last thing. “if you e…..e….ever need me go to the swing. Th….the one near the W…wo…wood. I’ll always b…b…be there”

When she finished I just stared at her. I saw a tear roll down her face and then there was a long beep. This was the first time in an age that I had ever called her “mommy” I shouted it at her as I was rushed out of the room.

That memory stays with me forever  

Ever since that day I have come to the swings when I have been in trouble, I have even run from school. People ask why the swing? I just stay silent.

Every time I great my mum

“Hi mum, I love you”     

  

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