Idk why I'm writing this. It might be some sort of diary, a plea for pity, or just some closure for crap that's gone on in my life. Yes, life sucks, yes mine sucks; but don't subtract from your own life due to my accounts. I have it better than many other people. If you want to comment anything then feel free to.
My name will be replaced with Kittlesby.
My earliest memory is of clippers. Not hair clippers, but tree cutters. I was holding them knowing what I could do, the power I had in my hands. I, myself could cut the very things that cut my face. And why wouldn't I? Then I heard a voice. I high baritone, not quite tenor. It had slight anger in its voice. My dad.
"Kittlesby! Where are my tree clippers!" The voice called. I closed my eyes, the light brushing my eyelids and filtering through the beautiful spring leaves and fur needles. The smell of the fresh air from the rain sharpening from the fear of getting caught.
"I don't know," I call back walking away from where I knew his line of sight could catch. I was by a house in the country, and trees threw shadows above me.
I only remember this because this is the first time I lied. The rush of my action, and the fear of punishment. The punishment did come by the way.
In a few minutes my parents found me clipping branches to make a path through a forest north of our house.
Soon I was crying in the corner of my room with a sore behind from the paddling.
I can't blame them for what they did, it helped me to be a little better in the future, even if I do still lie sometimes.
That's all for today. Don't know when I'll post again so stay updated.
YOU ARE READING
My Life
Non-FictionIt's about my life, or at least what I remember. One important thing from each grade, unless it's really important.
