The Swing Set

By Eve, Year 7

As we age, we become like old photographs; live long enough and we start

curling and withering at the edges. That’s how I feel at this moment, driving

slowly along my childhood street looking at all the small houses that used to

look like giants when I was six. I see my old house and suddenly I’m back

where the photographs are straight and crisp. I can see me, when I was five,

hiding in my bedroom as my parents fought about money, then there’s my

best friend and I trying our first cigarette in my garage. There are the police

arriving at my door, I was only 14, my dog barking at the flashing red and blue

lights.

CRASH.

I jolt out of my memories and see a tree branch falling through the

roof of an old greenhouse across the street. It’s been longer than I realised

since I was last here. Everything is starting to fall apart and I don’t just mean

the greenhouse… I’m falling apart. After the police arrived at my door that

day, 5th of November to be exact, my life has never been the same. I finally

started moving past it, building a new life, yet here I am, back where it all

began.

I start driving again and see an old swing set. I have a quick flash of

a long-lost memory, a gunshot, but I can’t remember who got shot. I shake

my head trying to remember but I have only recently discovered; childhood

memories are like worms popping out of the ground. They come up at

random times but are hard to find again amongst the dirt. When I see the

swing set I want to wash away the dirt but I don’t. If I clear away the dirt I

know all there will be is pain but I have a feeling if I don’t remember exactly

what happened somebody is going to get hurt, and I think I know exactly

where I need to start clearing.