IT WAS MIDNIGHT AND I WAS STARING OUT OF THE WINDOW INTO THE DARKNESS BECAUSE I COULDN`T SLEEP ,AND HAD NOTHING BETTER TO DO. I COULD NOT SLEEP BECAUSE I MISSED MY DAD TERRIBLY AND I HAVEN`T MET HIM IN ALMOST WEEKS. I FELT MORE ISOLATED THAN WE ALREADY ARE IN THE LOCKDOWN AS MY FATHER WAS VERY CLOSE TO ME AND HE WASN’T THERE BY MY SIDE. WHENEVER I ASKED MY CARE TAKER WHERE HE WAS, SHE WAS JUST BEATING AROUND THE BUSHES AND NEVER REALLY ANSWERED TO MY QUESTION. THE NEXT MORNING I WOKE UP WITH A NIGHTMARE THAT MY FATHER WOULD’NT COME BACK FROM AMERICA, I WAS TERRIFIED AND COULD’NT LET GO OF THE THOUGHT. I RAN OUT TO MY MOTHER AND ASKED HER WHEN WOULD FATHER COME SHE REPLIED “SOON DARLING SOON” WITH A SIGH . continue the story
Answers
Answer:
it's you work do it yourself
Explanation:
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Explanation:
I never really understood what had happened to my father. I kept coming back to the same conclusion time and time again. A number of thoughts raced my mind every time I thought of him. I was only 7 at the time. But I shouldn't have had that curiosity. And you know what they say about curiosity - it killed the cat. Days, weeks, months passed by, but I hadn't gotten a word from him. I was getting worried. A year had passed. I was 8 now. Still no signs of the homecoming of my father. I grew quiet and listless. I had to, but never really, accepted the departure of my father. One day, when my mother wasn't home, I recieved a letter from our mailbox. The heading almost gave me a concussion. It said "ITS BEEN ONE YEAR, HOW'VE YOU BEEN HOLDING UP?". I immediately checked whom the letter was from. It said, "From : CHARLIE. " That was my uncle, and the letter was addressed to my mother. I read ahead "Cancer really puts the best of us in the grounds. I have been sending you money monthly. I hope you have been recieveing it. Also, say my hello to you little boy, Jack. Love from California."
I was enraged, confused, dramatic and tormented all at once. This pandemonium of emotions had consumed me from the inside. "No", I said to myself, "Father isn't coming home soon, HE AIN'T COMING NEVER." I YELLED. My mother heard me. She was behind me. She looked at me with sorrowful, tearful eyes. "Honey, I...", she began, but I cut in. "MOM I AM NOT LISTENING TO ANYTHING! LET... ME.... GO" I yelled and cried and flung the nearby vase at her. I picked up some money from the table and the blanket from the sofa and ran, as fast as one's feet allowed him to. My mother didn't try to stop me. I found my way to a bus stop and went to the next city. An old woman found me on the street, sleeping at night. She picked me up and took me to her warm, cozy home. I was scared and shy at first, then I grew used to her. She was my new future. She lit up a hope in me, a spark, the very spark that prevented me from taking my life at multiple occasions, and the very spark that has kept me alive to tell you this story, kids. I now work as a psychiatrist for children, and often connect with them using my own childhood. This IS MY STORY.