Fishing Creative Writing
The day he left, I felt lost, broken, empty.
Everything was going to be different. There would be no one to go fishing with on Sunday afternoons, no one to help me with my school work—not anymore, because he was leaving. Mother told us he would be okay and reassured us every night when we prayed together that he would come back. She said that when the train went whistling by next spring, he would be back in our arms, safe from all the chaos, away from the guns and bombs. We would be able to go fishing once again.
Days went by like years. Months went by like decades. Suddenly, the thick air hit me and the clouds grew thicker, making it seem harder to breathe. Looking up at the arrival time of his train, I thought, He’s late! I panicked. The worry in the pit of my stomach was unbearable, gnawing like wolves on a dead animal. My head was spinning, pounding, aching from his absence. My heart felt like exploding, I could hardly contain myself. He will be back, he has to be. We need him back, we are falling apart. We need him to care for us, love us, and hold us tight. It is my job to take …show more content…
Small children cried, creating a tense atmosphere. Families crowded around, hovering to try and see the train door.
Slowly, it opened. A man with blond hair and blue eyes walked down the steps. A young woman rushed over with a swaddled baby in her arms. They held each other tight, tear-filled eyes spilling relief. When I saw the first survivor, that moment gave me hope. It was possible to come back from such horrible things.
Families are reuniting left and right, but where is he? He must have got on the train first and been pushed to the back. The windows were tinted, and I strained my eyes to see in. They all looked the same.
“He’ll be on the next one. Patience, my dear,” repeated Mother over and over as the whistle blew, leaving an irritating ringing noise in my ears. I felt lost, broken, and empty once
Everything was going to be different. There would be no one to go fishing with on Sunday afternoons, no one to help me with my school work—not anymore, because he was leaving. Mother told us he would be okay and reassured us every night when we prayed together that he would come back. She said that when the train went whistling by next spring, he would be back in our arms, safe from all the chaos, away from the guns and bombs. We would be able to go fishing once again.
Days went by like years. Months went by like decades. Suddenly, the thick air hit me and the clouds grew thicker, making it seem harder to breathe. Looking up at the arrival time of his train, I thought, He’s late! I panicked. The worry in the pit of my stomach was unbearable, gnawing like wolves on a dead animal. My head was spinning, pounding, aching from his absence. My heart felt like exploding, I could hardly contain myself. He will be back, he has to be. We need him back, we are falling apart. We need him to care for us, love us, and hold us tight. It is my job to take …show more content…
Small children cried, creating a tense atmosphere. Families crowded around, hovering to try and see the train door.
Slowly, it opened. A man with blond hair and blue eyes walked down the steps. A young woman rushed over with a swaddled baby in her arms. They held each other tight, tear-filled eyes spilling relief. When I saw the first survivor, that moment gave me hope. It was possible to come back from such horrible things.
Families are reuniting left and right, but where is he? He must have got on the train first and been pushed to the back. The windows were tinted, and I strained my eyes to see in. They all looked the same.
“He’ll be on the next one. Patience, my dear,” repeated Mother over and over as the whistle blew, leaving an irritating ringing noise in my ears. I felt lost, broken, and empty once