The Lake

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 19, 2016

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Submitted: April 19, 2016



When I was about five years old, my grandmother and I used to walk a lot on weekends and our favorite place was a path near a city lake. The lake was surrounded by apartment blocks one of which was mine.

In comparison with other lakes that I have seen, that one was small and quite dirty. Although that time it seemed almost clean. Growing around the lake bulrush was covered most of the junk that blocks inhabitants threw away. Even wild ducks found there an appropriate place for living.

While we were walking, my granny was telling me different stories. Some of them were Russian fairytales, other were rumors about our relatives and neighbors. Sometimes, when I asked her about her childhood, she remembered the Siberian woods, years of hunger and freezing German prisoners to whom she always admitted she had no sympathy. Almost all of her stories she ended up with the same conclusion: “Alas, my little Jenya, no one is flawless”

Due to my grandmother, the lake was like home where nothing bad could happen. It was a place where I felt safe. When I became older, I came to the lake to find a remedy. But the older I became, the dirtier it was. One day, a few years after my granny passed away, I walked on the path again but there was no lake anymore. As my grandmother, it was buried under the ground. No whispering bulrush, no little ducks. Only a big grey plateau.

So far, I like walking near lake coasts and I am still looking for the path, which makes me feel safe again.

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