snaith/ narrative openings

the present- It was the chilled moment of Christmas morning. I had lost the spirit to be extremely happy, mainly because I was told about 6 years ago that my childhood hero, Santa, doesn’t actually exist. Christmas is a time for me where I act excited so my parents are happy. As an only child, i didn’t want to let my parents get upset that they were losing their ‘beautiful little baby’. I hated it when they called me that, but Christmas is a nice time of the year, so I helped as much as I can to make them happy, even if the only reason I get out of bed every morning is for my ‘presents’. Revision for my final exams of GCSE’s was causing me a lot of mental pain, so the Christmas break was a life saver.

The day was weird. The sun, very juxtaposed with the season of the year, shone down through our conservatory, aggravating me as I had planned to watch the polar express before the family decided to show up and disturb my lonely peace.  I was at the age where presents couldn’t matter to me at all and all I ever wanted was money. We lived in a small village, not too many people but a lovely community to live in. almost everyone knows who I am, or at least who my parents are (probably because they spend most of the time out with their mates).

the game- water. thats all i could think of. as a livid sportsman, i didnt mind a minute amount of rain from time to time. but this was different. winter had been chilling my small town in the north of england for…