Assignment 3

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Compendium of Emotional Nuances

Prompt - When I was a kid....

About the Stories

When I was a kid there were experiences I had that were unique to my childhood self. Below are three true short stories linked to times in my childhood when I experienced heightened levels of non-typical emotions. These moments have never really left me, and I doubt my adult self would ever be able to experience the unique set of complex emotions felt at these times.

I was a kid that imagined, I was a kid that feared and I was a kid that moved.

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#1 - Imagined

src: https://www.deviantart.com/stayinwonderland/art/Ship-in-a-Storm-734063140

The ship heaved, the wood creaked, the wind howled but the wave, the wave consumed, it swallowed, drowned and crashed. I grab the wheel. The wave breaks, froth explodes across the ship, the water follows and my world is dark. A moment of quiet as I’m submerged. Then two. Then three and... my head bursts above the water, I cough spluttering and sucking in as much air as my lungs will allow. The water recedes from the deck, I flick the hair from my face and peer with stinging eyes at my surroundings. This was one hell of a storm. And just to make matters worse, they were nearly upon us. A massive war galley bore down on my ship from starboard. "All hands on deck!" I yell, drawing my cutlass and making sure to keep a firm grip on the wheel. The galley was going to try ram us, hah, I smirked, they were in for a nasty surprise if our ships met. My ship was reinforced with sterner stuff than that galley could ever hope to pierce. Only the passage of time could ever damage my ship. "Cap'n! They’re going to ram us!" Dom yelled from the crow’s nest. “I can see that you blithering barnacle” If he wasn’t so handy with a blade and my cousin too boot, I’d have him walk the plank. The rest of my blasted crew finally managed to stagger onto the foredeck. Holding fast to whatever they could. They were a motley bunch, these lackeys of mine. But I couldn’t ask for a more reliable crew, though they’d never hear that from me. My brother Christopher was the first mate, if the sea claimed me one day, he’d make a passable substitute. Alessia was our cook, she could whip up a meal fit for a king from just about anything, we weren’t content with tack and biscuits on this ship. And finally, our strongest member, my elder sister Michela - the giantess. She hung onto the mast and it bent dangerously towards her. “Listen up you slimy good for nothins, that war galley there is about to ram us, and she’s carrying a highly trained bunch of Britts that think they can take on the likes of us! What do you all have to say about that eh?” My words are met with a roar of laughter, jeers and raised weapons. We could take any ship, our crew was notorious on the seven seas, our bounties in the billions of doubloons. As one we turned, weapons gleaming, smiles dancing, to face the approaching galley. The ship heaved, the wood creaked, the wind howled, but the voice, the voice consumed, it swallowed, drowned and crashed our world apart. “CHRISTOPHER! MICHELA! HEY!” The storm disappeared, there was no war galley, just blue sky. The sea that had raged against us just moments before was now ankle-deep, tiny waves lapped against our hull. “TIME TO GO” I glanced at my sword, but in its place was a rather ugly stick. “We are LEAVING! Bring Alessia and Dominic, let’s go, NOW!” My siblings, cousins and I disembarked off our ship, which was now, quite distinctly, a rock. A rock shaped like a broken ship – shipwreck rock.

Nearby the actual shipwreck rock - couldn't find a picture of it ):

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#2 - Feared

src - http://shutterstock.puzzlepix.hu/kereses?query=schizophrenic

I’m not going to sleep tonight. I knew it with a certainty that filled me with dread. Just the memory of the last few nights is enough to fill me with fear. It was going to be there in my room. No! Stop it! Don’t think about it. But it was too late, my heart rate spiked, and blood started rushing to my head. “What’s wrong?” My mother’s voice knocked me out of my reverie. “Nothing” I muttered and turned my attention to my food, there really was nothing she could do. It was up to me. After dinner, my siblings and I went to watch a movie, I usually enjoy our movie nights, but today I just couldn’t focus. The open doorway to my room stared at me like the abyss. Taunting me. Tantalizing me. I was exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed and pass out. But I knew it wasn’t that easy. The last three sleepless nights - the countless sores on my body - had taught me that. Before I knew it, the movie ended. School started early tomorrow and I really needed sleep. I hated the way I felt when I was tired. I think that’s what terrified me the most. I’m terrified that my days will be ruined if I don’t sleep. And it’s that fear, the fear of knowing that I’m going to feel horrible tomorrow, that just eats at me.

Eventually, it’s time. There’s nothing for it. I look around my room. I check under the bed. I check the walls - peer at my bookshelf. I see nothing. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I didn’t see anything yesterday either. My inspection complete, I clamber into bed. I lie completely still and hold my breath. I strain my ears, trying my hardest to hear. I’m listening for that distinct whine that gives it away. If I hear even the faintest note, I know I won’t sleep tonight. It will be a waking nightmare and tomorrow will be ruined. These thoughts push me over the edge. I start breathing quick shallow breaths, my heart begins to pound, I hear a rushing in my ears and my vision narrows. Terror courses through me. Please, please just let it have gone, dear God, I’m begging you. I strain my ears further and… nothing. I push harder, willing my hearing to pick up even the faintest sound… still nothing. Maybe, just maybe I can rest. I can finally get some sleep. My breathing starts to slow and I begin to start rela- EeeeeeeeeeEEEeeeeeeeEEEeeEEEeee – NO NO NO NO! I jerk upright. Adrenaline instantly pumping through me. I twist around, frantically searching for the sound and thrashing at where I hear it. I’m half sobbing as I flail around in the dark. “No no no no, please” I leap out of bed and dash for the light switch. My heartbeat drumming in my ears, I turn it on, and there it is. Sitting on the ceiling. Mocking me. Completely out of reach. The bites on my body start to itch as I stare at it, despair overwhelms me. I’m not going to sleep tonight. That mosquito won’t let me.

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src - https://www.flickr.com/photos/lolotahiti/144389397

This sound actually terrifies me

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#3 - Moved

^ First song on this playlist

src - https://www.opendoor.com/w/guides/moving-guide-checklist

There’s something saddening about an empty house. About an empty room. Especially if you’ve lived in it. Each box you pack, steals a bit of the house’s soul and personality. What’s left behind is an empty shell, the skin without the body. It becomes something impersonal. With your belongings, the house is intimately yours, familiar and unique. Without them, it’s a bland husk, filled only with the memories of what used to be. I stroll through my room, full of cardboard boxes, and… I am sad. So much has happened in this house. This very room is one that my brother and I share, the image of what was, still fresh in my mind. I see the blow-up swing suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the room - it was nothing more than a dizzy trap for our unsuspecting friends. The box TV lies just in front of it, we would watch a movie every ‘non-school-night’. Our matching bunk beds and colourful drawers are on either side. And I can almost hear the sound of the Harry Potter audiobook we listened to every night. In reality, I stare at an empty 4x8m room packed only with boxes and memories.

Perhaps I am just sad, and the house is just a physical reminder of why. We are leaving. Again. Moving to a different country. The close friends I made at school, I would likely never see again. The reputation I had cultivated amongst both friends and teachers would be gone; good at sports, the best at tag, good at acting and smart enough to join extension classes. All of these titles would have to be earnt again. New friends would need to be made. Mama tells me it’s an opportunity to change who I am, to be new and to be better. But I didn’t want to change, I liked my role, I liked my friends and how I was perceived. I was happy. But now we were moving to the other side of the world, to start all over again. Again. Three years here finding my place, but now it was straight back to square one.

My home is like me. I can take most of its contents with me. But the new house will be a different size, a different shape. It might not fit what I bring. Some things might get left behind, some things might have to get thrown away and some new things might get bought. What I know for certain, is that it will be different. Maybe better, but maybe not.

It’s easier to be something if people expect it from you. I have found each successive move slightly harder as I get older, the extra years make roles more established and harder to break. As I walk through my dying home I can’t help but wonder, what if? What if I didn’t leave? The me that stayed here might be completely different to the me that moves away. Who would I be if I stayed? And who will I become when I go?

^my childhood room