Snaith Narrative Writing 'The present'

The present

Presents, we all love them. Well I did too till an hour ago.....

It started as a cold autumn morning the watery light filtered through my window highlighting the gaunt features of my tired face. I was excited, who wouldn't be it was my birthday after all. Yet dread was also filling my heart, I hated birthdays all the jubilation of being another year older. The only positve side was my grandma's present, the only good thing about this whole wretched day . I loved my grandma, she was mine and she adored me like a mother adores a newborn baby.

Slowly I raised my drooping head a few inches above my pillow and toppled (none too elegantly) out of bed, landing in a heap on the floor. The door smiled triumphantly down at me as I opened it and marched grudgingly down my over-polished stairs. "Happy Bir-" "save it!" I screamed , my father knew I hated birthdays and still couldn't get it in to his head to leave me alone to sulk. My grandma was sat humming in benign interest , like she had never been here before. "Happy birthday pumkin" she called as if she hadn't even heard me battling with my dad. "Thanks grandma" I said tentatively, holding in an eye roll (with difficulty…