Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Sunday Schooling by TheRoost (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📖
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gave me. I have never seen Father give her that smile, but Mother used to smile at him like that. She hasn't smiled in a long, long time.
"I won't let you corrupt my children!" Father yelled, pushing harder. I could see the strain on Pastor Thomas's arms.
"You are the one abusing them! I am saving them, giving them a chance at a normal life. This isn't normal: and you know that it's not what's best for them." Mother was crying now, like me, and shaking, but not like Father. She sank to the floor and sobbed heartbreaking sobs.
Without knowing what I was doing, I stood up from my chair. I looked down, surprised. I never had the strength to do that on my own. I looked at my Mother, choking on her own sobs, and made a promise to myself. I walked back into my room, closed the door, and took out my small suitcase. I shook Mary, and told her what happened. She was quiet for a minute, then she got out of bed and grabbed her suitcase. She told me we would sneak out the backdoor and wait in the backseat of Mother's car. She took out all my stuff while I packed it, and when I was done, I did the same for her. It took all of our bags, but we did it. I opened my window and Mary pushed the bags and suitcases onto the ground. Mary lifted me over, and then climbed over herself. She told me she was proud of me for finding the strength to walk. I felt good inside.
When we walked around to the front of the house, I could still hear them yelling. Mary ran to Mother's car and tried to open the door; it was locked. I saw another car, one that wasn't Mother's or Father's, parked on the street in front of our house. I pointed it to Mary and she told me it was Pastor Thomas's car. She had seen him drive it before. I ran to the car and tried to open the door. It was unlocked. We ran to the trunk and loaded our things inside, then closed it. We climbed in the back seat and Mary told me to lay on the floor, curled in a ball. I did, and she closed the door. Then, she crawled over the seat and went to the floor. She did the same thing I did. We waited, still and silent.
I couldn't hear anyone come to the door, but Mary put finger to her lips and mouthed "Pastor Thomas". I felt, but didn't hear, the car door open. I heard the faint sound of the engine starting, and I felt the car move. Mary mouthed that she heard Mother shout goodbye at Father. Mary peeked behind over the back seat: she mouthed "Mother". We waited a few more minutes, and when we felt the car stop, we climbed onto the back seat. Pastor Thomas looked at us through his rear-view mirror and smiled really big. He called Mother, but I couldn't hear what he said.
I never saw Father again.
Imprint
"I won't let you corrupt my children!" Father yelled, pushing harder. I could see the strain on Pastor Thomas's arms.
"You are the one abusing them! I am saving them, giving them a chance at a normal life. This isn't normal: and you know that it's not what's best for them." Mother was crying now, like me, and shaking, but not like Father. She sank to the floor and sobbed heartbreaking sobs.
Without knowing what I was doing, I stood up from my chair. I looked down, surprised. I never had the strength to do that on my own. I looked at my Mother, choking on her own sobs, and made a promise to myself. I walked back into my room, closed the door, and took out my small suitcase. I shook Mary, and told her what happened. She was quiet for a minute, then she got out of bed and grabbed her suitcase. She told me we would sneak out the backdoor and wait in the backseat of Mother's car. She took out all my stuff while I packed it, and when I was done, I did the same for her. It took all of our bags, but we did it. I opened my window and Mary pushed the bags and suitcases onto the ground. Mary lifted me over, and then climbed over herself. She told me she was proud of me for finding the strength to walk. I felt good inside.
When we walked around to the front of the house, I could still hear them yelling. Mary ran to Mother's car and tried to open the door; it was locked. I saw another car, one that wasn't Mother's or Father's, parked on the street in front of our house. I pointed it to Mary and she told me it was Pastor Thomas's car. She had seen him drive it before. I ran to the car and tried to open the door. It was unlocked. We ran to the trunk and loaded our things inside, then closed it. We climbed in the back seat and Mary told me to lay on the floor, curled in a ball. I did, and she closed the door. Then, she crawled over the seat and went to the floor. She did the same thing I did. We waited, still and silent.
I couldn't hear anyone come to the door, but Mary put finger to her lips and mouthed "Pastor Thomas". I felt, but didn't hear, the car door open. I heard the faint sound of the engine starting, and I felt the car move. Mary mouthed that she heard Mother shout goodbye at Father. Mary peeked behind over the back seat: she mouthed "Mother". We waited a few more minutes, and when we felt the car stop, we climbed onto the back seat. Pastor Thomas looked at us through his rear-view mirror and smiled really big. He called Mother, but I couldn't hear what he said.
I never saw Father again.
Imprint
Text: Me
Publication Date: 07-22-2012
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