I was going to write a piece but my little sister wrote this in year 7 (about age 12/13 ) for a “Descriptive Writing” assignment; it’s perfect.
My descriptive writing.
It had been almost six days now. The days were getting harder and harder to cope with. I was now sitting in the brown, leather chair trying to do my homework but it was confusing. My loving caring aunty Corine had made me a delicious, thick, chocolate milkshake.
I began to think, ‘everything’s going to be alright, this happens to people all the time.’
Then I heard a noise coming from the door, I looked up, my aunty raced to it. My brave, unbelievable mother walked through the brown stain glass window door. Tears were streaming down her red, smooth cheeks. Still crying she shook her head.
A huge, heavy, burning asteroid hit my pounding heart.
‘No!’ I thought, ‘this is impossible, not my hero, not my dad, this is all a dream! MADELINE, wake up!!!’ My head was spinning.
I was standing now tears streaming down my burning face. My mum came and gave me a warm, motherly hug but I could feel her sobs whacking against my now cripple body.
‘This is all true. My dad is going to die from this stupid heart attack! As if the doctors can’t do anything, the hardworking, smart doctors can’t do anything!’ Everything was flashing through my head but nothing could break through the heavy, aching sobs coming from me.
My aunty sat my mum and I down on the soft, cold, brown, leather couch. My whole family were arriving now. My big, manly brother, in tears. My big, loving sister, in tears.
We all hugged and blew our dripping wet noses and faces with new, long, thick Kleenex tissues.
Everything else that happened on that day is a blur except the aching, throbbing pain of knowing someone you love is going to die.
The next day was Valentines Day. I decided to go to my boring but still caring primary school, St. Margaret Mary’s.
I was still in complete shock and denial as I walked in silence to school to tell them that the one thing that was keeping my dad alive was going to be switched off permanently.
As I walked up the gloomy, quiet street I saw the blonde long hair of Olivia running towards me. In her skinny little hands there were two pretty purple flowers. She gave them to me and we walked the rest of the way to school talking about different things.
When I got to school heaps of girls ran up to me asking, “Are those flowers for me?” or “why aren’t you in your school uniform?”
I felt my aching heart pounding in my chest as I shook my head and reported that my caring dad was going to die. The shocked responses of all my friends were indescribable.
As I walked to my small classroom I ran into my friend Rachel’s mum Emma. She decided to come and tell my usually annoying class that my dad was going to die.
As she told the class tears began to drip slowly down my hot face. I looked down in hope that no-one would notice I was crying.
The next thing I knew Emma was asking if I wanted to tell the class myself what was happening. I shook my head quickly, the tears that were stuck in my eyes dripped out.
I could feel the other students looking at me in disbelief.
The way Emma was talking you could tell she was crying as well. Her warm, caring hand was on my quivering back as I tried not to cry too loud. A girl in my class put her cold hand on my right knee trying to soothe me.
After Emma had told the now completely shocked class, all the girls had a warm, caring, loving group hug.
Three days later at 2:50pm Robert Frances Campbell died on February 17th. He was on life support for a total of ten days but he had too much brain damage to survive. I miss him every day and the memories of those ten long, painful days and the memories of him will never ever leave my heart.
In memory of Robert Campbell