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Childhood Memories

Short story By: Bash
Memoir


When childhood friends embark upon a Satanic ritual


Submitted:May 1, 2014    Reads: 22    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Have you ever been so tired you can't sleep? Bolt awake whilst lying in your dreamy luxury twin bed, listening intently to the patter of rain streaming down your window, like thousands of gentle long fingernails tapping impatiently to be let inside. Sitting by the window inhaling that sweet scent of fresh air, instantly penetrating and clinging to the nostril hairs, stinging with the bitter memories of childhood and outdoors.

Still holding the secrets of my childhood past, the bird bath stands alone erect at the bottom of the garden. I visited the garden plenty of times during my summertime youth. Sophie, that was her name; she was the beautiful girl next door with those blonde curly ringlets that made relatives squeal with piggy delight at the sight of them. The swing stands in a serious manner, alone staring back through the cobwebs and burnt orange rust of many winters gone by. Sometimes I cry, I cry about how I'm not young anymore. I cry for all those summers past. She was the type of girl to wear knickers with Saturday scrawled across them on a Wednesday. They would sometimes cautiously peak out of her flowing skirt when we played at handstands, identifying themselves to the world in a bold and stately tone.

The baby blue sky was filled with fluffy cream clouds wandering aimlessly through the picturesque atmosphere. I remember this well as I was sat hand in hand with Sophie watching them pass by and change shape into happy bunnies and distorted faces, adding a sinister touch to the scenic surroundings.

Together we skipped over to the bird bath in the back of her garden where her parents couldn't see us; Sophie was never allowed friends over so we had to be sneaky. Together, we picked scarlet cherries of dying branches, and mushed them into the pre made mud pies- chanting spells as we went wishing to be rich and famous in the future. Sophie beckoned me further off the garden path, pointing to the greenhouse, 'I have something to show you' she whispered in anticipation. I followed her only to find the most adorable baby bird lying amongst the tomato plants. It chirped once and then twice more as Sophie cupped the young bird in her little cheery stained hands and held it up towards my face. I smiled happily as its small eyes glinted against the sunlight, as it chirped once more into my ears. My smile faded instantly as I heard the horrific click of the baby bird's neck being snapped violently by Sophie's blood stained hands. The sounds resonated into my ears like the sound of a knuckle being cracked; leaving me speechless as I moved my eyes towards Sophie's manic grin, a look of accomplishment crossed her pretty face. 'Now we can make real spells' she murmured in the silence. Instantly she flew back into the garden to the bird bath placing the corpse gently into the water, I followed tears pinching at my watery eyes. Sophie bathed the bird, turning the once translucent water a darkish black. Sophie grabbed a plant pot and stuck it deep in the contaminated water. Staring so intently almost into my soul she voiced in a serious tone 'drink it'.

'Please' I uttered 'please let's do something else', the birds chirp was playing on my childish mind as I turned my head and sighted the swing. 'The swing lets swing' I whispered gleefully running over and taking my seat. Sophie was still playing with the blood as she watched me; the inner child was playing through her thoughts as a happy look crossed her innocent face. 'I'm going to swing on the bars'; she took a flying leap and grabbed the bars above me. I quickly darted out of the way, that was when it happened.

Hearing a loud high pitched blood churning scream I strode over full of panic when I saw her pretty little blonde ringlets turn an ominous crimson delight. She lay there, lifeless. The cherished green grass she laid on became a bouncy comfy bed which she rested on, swallowing her up beneath it. Flowers began sprouting from her arms and legs and her blood stained hair, personifying her into Ophelia. I could imagine this beautiful garden accepting Sophie, throwing its branched arms out towards her and welcoming her as part of the flower beds.

I wish I could tell you that this is what happened, but unfortunately I will never know. When I look back on what happened I would like to think this version of the tale was true. However, when I saw Sophie fall, I turned around and sprinted. I sprinted hard until my worn out converse were slapping the concrete pavement outside my house.





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