Short Story : 'The Adventures Of Pinocchio'

Every stair that I took I looked over a different page in the book. I wanted to make sure I knew every word so I could read the story that night. Once I got to my room, my mom was waiting patiently beside the bed for me. I looked down at the book in my hands, it was old, barely hanging on by the thread binding from years of use. Then I breathed in deeply and mumbled “Can I read the story tonight?” I was afraid she couldn’t hear me, but she did because with a smile she nodded her head. Filled with excitement I climbed into my spot on the bed and quickly opened the book. My mom sat next to me and held one side of the big book while her other arm was around my shoulder. Then I begun to read “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,”. My voice squeaked through each page as I tried my best to read the story just as my mom always did. The smooth paper glided under my tiny finger as I traced each sentence to keep my place. The rhythm of my voice was not fluid but

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

“I don’t feel so well” Jan’s father had suddenly said one morning at breakfast. Her father, a World War II veteran, stood up and went to go lie down. The rest of the family continued with their day. Michael went to see how his father was. When he tried to wake him his father didn’t respond or make a sound. The 11 year old boy was the one who first knew that his father was gone. The memory of her father’s loss is vivid in Jan’s mind. It was a substantial shock after he had survived the horrors of World War II and then just passed away quietly at home one morning. Jan now understands how

When I woke up in the morning, my mom had left for work. My dad was singing in the kitchen, banging pots around. I got up, tiptoed down the hall, washed my face. A neatly wrapped present lay on the bathroom counter. It was addressed to me. I stuffed it into my robe pocket, and rushed back down the hall. Under the covers, I opened the package. On the first page of a small, leather notebook, an inscription read: to a writer, love your mother. I never wrote anything in the notebook. I could never think of anything good

I stood on the porch just thinking about my mother, oh how I miss my mother. If I could just see her one more time I would have so much to tell her. All I have left was my sister and my father, I'm just thinking about how much love I need to show them; because no one knows how much time we have left her on the earth. At the time, looking back on my mother and all she did for me, I honestly believe that she was the only person in my life that gave me joy and happiness. During the war the only thing I could ever thing of, the only thing that keep me sane was my mother. While being sorrowful on the porch, the door opens and I see my sister standing there crying. She runs at me a leaps into my arms crying, she tells me “its been to long brother”. I tell her that crying will only make me cry. At that moment my father walks throw the door and gives both my sister and I the biggest most immense hug. After maybe ten minutes of hugging the the porch we head inside and I got to take a shower and get ice for my head trying to relieve the

Even six year old me could see the great suffering my father experienced not only mentally but physically. I recall once walking in the bathroom and seeing my father vomit, it was the first time I seen him so vulnerable. I could see the pain in his eyes. It was our third month in the united states and my father could not find a job, it was killing him. He was considering a job as a dishwasher to support his family, for that I could never repay him. A sprinkle of hope glimmered in our dark world when my dad got a job as a dispatcher at a local Airport, when I look back now I wonder if father ever felt disappointed that his hard nights of studying in college was futile, if he know that he would have to give up his career to support his family. Soon we moved out of my aunt and uncle’s how’s into a small one bedroom apartment in a sketchy neighborhood. By that time my mother has lost a total of thirty pounds. The once vibrant and sociable women was always tired, she often made called relatives back home which resulted in her crying for hours. My father would often cook and clean, it was fascinating to see my dad performing these tasks

The other day I spotted the corner of an album tucked carefully under my mother’s wedding dress in the attic. In the album I saw a photograph of Father proudly smiling in his soldier’s uniform. There were photos of Father and I tightly hugging each other, grinning at one another, and Father playfully flinging me into the air. They were all frozen, nostalgic moments in time. Tears brimmed my eyes as I recalled memories of my Father. The strong yet kind, agile face with twinkling brown eyes and bushy eyebrows was no more.

As I watched my house crumbled into a million pieces, my legs started to quiver to the point where I could no longer stand on my own two feet. Everything… everything I’d ever loved was inside: my diary, my family photos, my childhood memories. I couldn’t take the pain any more so I began to thrash around the frozen, forlorn floor like a fish on a hook. As my pupils rolled back, flashbacks rolled in. The picture of a child lying in bed while her parents read her a bedtime story replayed in my mind. Images of a primary school girl showing her parents the pictures she drew of them, as a family, wouldn’t fade away. All those memories…now gone. Forever.

The thunder roared outside my window as I wished I could go back in time and be little again when there was no responsibilities to fulfill, no homework to do, and when I was free. I looked down at my homework with hatred, knowing I’d have to finish pointless history sometime or another. I skimmed over the history book that was laying there taunting me. I slowly read the words trying to understand what I was supposed to be learning about. My eyes hurt and sleep was coming on, I could feel it. It was a war between me and my body, the battle was short and sleep won.

Every night, as I sat on the table with my younger brothers assisting them with their homework, I hear a familiar sound at the door. As she walks her heels click, and I can hear her searching her bag for her keys, the next thing I know the keys are in the lock and as it turns me and my younger brothers’ jump. We run to the door and indeed we scream in unison “Mommy’s home”, one by one she gives us a hug and a kiss. My mother asks us how our day was, and if we finished our homework, she then looks to me and said “did you cook and assist your younger ones with their homework”; I replied “yes mom”. As I warm the food, I take my mother’s purse, jacket, and shoes put them away and prepare the table for her to eat dinner. As I glance at the

Looking at myself in the mirror, and I wonder will things get better? The war has finally ceased, but will father return home? No letters from him have came our way since the beginning of the war. I take mother’s old scissors from when she used to cut my hair, and take one last glance at myself. Once I am done contemplating, in a few snips my long, luscious blond hair is scattered along the floor. My hair is now up to my shoulders, and it brings out the dark green in my eyes. I hear my mother reading to my brother, Maxwell, The Adventures of Pinocchio, which was granted to her by my grandparents similar to this old Oklahoma farmhouse. Mother always comforted me with that book, but now that I am nine she thinks I am old enough to fall asleep without her. Although, I still long for her and my father’s comfort, when they would hug and kiss me to bed every night, before the war. Crawling back into my covers, I faintly hear mother creaking down the hall. You can hear the floorboards creaking, they never got fixed to due to the war. She comes in my room and whispers, “Goodnight Marley, I love you.” She feels my hair, and I whisper back, “Night Mother, I love you.”

My mother heard of the war would break out in the aere where we lived. But at that time, we didn’t have more energy to travel long distance. The dreadful day was coming. One day, a bomb exploded near my house when my sister was playing on the garden. She was wounded by a bomb. She cried and fell down in the blood. My mother and I ran out as soon as possible. My mother held my sister and wait for the ambulances. Then she took my sister to the hospital by ambulance and left me alone. The war made my family fragmenting but life is going. Later on, my mother always moved between home and hospital. She needed to care my sister and I should stay at home to do all

However, the skies began to turn grey, rain started to pour down upon our village for days at a time, and wars began. My father went off to help with the war. That was one of the many things I idealized about him. He was brave and selfless, or at least I thought he was. My father started coming home later and later each night. His clothes stank of blood and the filth of not being washed from weeks at a time. Under all the stench he had the smell of another lady, a lady of wealth and riches. It was not long after, I realized what was going on. My father had been cheating on my mother. I confronted him about his sins. He was embarrassed and scared about his actions

Sometimes I like to think of my life as a movie, that everything I have been through is only leading me to a happy ending. However, the opening scene is one I wish with all my heart that it wasn’t part of reality. As I try to picture it, it appears like an old hazy, sepia colored film. It is a warm, quiet day; my family and I are on the floor of our compact trailer laughing. My father is holding my baby sister’s hand as she attempts to walk. We all have proud and gleeful expressions. Slowly the laughter stops and this image fades into black when the light reappears everything is surprisingly vivid. We are outside now, on a bright hot summer day; our fingers and mouths numb from chewing on ice. My parents are cleaning up, while my siblings and I stay put. We are playing with our baby sister when my mom pokes her head out from the small narrow door. She looks down at us holding an unrecognizable doll; it belongs to her friend’s children. Eager to get out of the house we jump up yelling with excitement that we will take it to them. She says no, but with the nature and stubbornness of kids, we ignored her. Furthermore, since we lived in the same trailer park, we did not see the harm of delivering the doll. Little did we know that that decision was going to haunt us for life. Not remembering how or when I got there, I found myself talking to my mom’s friend with the excitement of a naive child while my sister was trying desperately to pull me away. When she finally succeeded, we