The Way of Peace - Written Explanation
Lizzie Alsop
Feb 2010
I came to write this piece as an English assessment task but as the idea for it formed, it became something that I loved to write and imagine. The idea for this piece came from a brainstorm of my memories. I chose this particular memory because it is a regular occurrence in the lives of many teenagers who want to escape their 'dreaded' lives. And because of this, I direct this story towards these teenagers who are uncertain of the life and people they grew up with.
This memory is important to me because it reminds me of the love I hold for my family even if they can be 'pains-in-the-ass' as I like to call them. It is written in first person to show the unguarded inner thoughts and emotions of the character.
This piece of writing started out as one of my simple memories and has transformed into a story about the unmindful yet unforgettable love of families.
The Way of Peace
I peek over the top of my book at the sound of stomping down the hallway. It is definitely not a good sign to hear stomping in this house. And sure enough, I hear mum's authoritative voice echo toward me.
'Come here young lady. Didn't I tell you to wash the dishes?' Oh no! I knew I forgot something.
Instead of face the talk (yell) that was to come, I silently made my way out of my room. She hadn't rounded the corner yet so I was able to sneak through another door without detection. I stifled a giggle as I heard her dissatisfied grunt when she entered my room.
So many times I have had to take refuge at my friend's place because of my forgetfulness. I know I can't go there this time as mum is sure to know where I go by now. I decide upon a new hiding place and where better for the prey to hide than in the same house as the hunter. Nobody would expect me, the rebel, to hide at home.
Placing silent foot in front of silent foot, I sneak through room to room, inspecting for the perfect hiding place. I am forever glancing sideways in case mum is ready to pounce.
I think about the novel I am still grasping in my hand. How I wish I could find a quiet place to sit and read, to return to my sanctuary. Soon after I send out the wish, an idea wove itself into my thoughts. Behind the backdrop in the studio would be a great place to set up camp for a few hours. Long enough for mum to cool off but not long enough for me to starve to death. I instantly regret skipping breakfast this morning.
Like a slithery snake, I weave my way through the photography equipment and slide my way behind the backdrop. I am instantly welcomed by the bright sun as it lapped across my face. The window sill acted as a seat for my drained body. Who knew sneaking around could be so tiring?
After soothing out my muscles, I relax into place and open up the book to where I left off.
*I was scared and angry at myself. Why was I not able to die alongside my family? I should be with them and not here in this unfamiliar, deserted place still living a life I knew I shouldn't have. But I also knew I had to stay strong, for the child in my arms could not take care of herself.*
The familiar characters drifted back to me as I recalled the unfortunate events in the book. My own drama felt like little more than a broken fingernail compared to the drama found in books.
I didn't forget about everything except the world in the book, things never happened like that. But I did feel a vivid sense of rightness to the world. As if I had a new perspective of the way things are. I mused at how I never seemed to see the words in books but rather my own imagination playing scenes in my mind; the defenceless child wrapped in the arms of her saviour, the dirty streets of London and a family, never to walk upon the earth again.
I think about my own family. My four sisters, two brothers and Mum and Dad. What would happen if they all died, leaving me here alone and vulnerable to a world full of misfortune. A tear slipped over my eyelid and splashed onto the page. Sure, my mum can be over authoritative and my sisters and brothers can be pains-in-the-ass, but I still love them. No matter how much we fight and disagree, how many wishes I send out for them to disappear, it still hurts to think of them gone.
A forgotten book sat open on the window ledge, as memories dwindled through my consciousness. I remember the times when I would run into Dad's embrace as he returned home from a hard days work. We would rub our noses together, our little symbol of love.
I remember the times when I would wake to find Mum in the kitchen making our school lunches. The warm sun shining through the kitchen window would soak me up with happiness and confidence for the day ahead.
I remember my sisters and I sticking together at family events, never really engaging with our annoying cousins. And I remember my older brother sticking up for me when I was made fun of at school. The kids learnt never to pick on me again.
Memories seemed to shimmer through the air as they each reacquainted themselves with me. My tears dried and left in their place a silent wish. A wish for gratitude and an acknowledged love for my family. My thoughts were so inspiring at that moment that I briefly wondered who had taken over my mind. Surely I couldn't have come to this realisation all on my own. I shook off the thought and laughed at myself. People in books might have their mind's taken over by supernatural forces but in the real world, I don't think so!
What I did know though, was that, even though it might not be great, I had to face the consequences and be mature about it.
My bare feet glided happily over the hard wooden floor as I made my way out to the kitchen. Even though there was a disgruntled mum waiting for me I couldn't wipe the gratified smile from my face. It had been a while since I smiled like this and I couldn't disappoint my feelings by wiping it away.
Mum took in my early arrival and optimistic smile and couldn't help but smile in return, although a confused expression set upon her face. I skipped the short distance between us and hugged her. Impulsively her arms wrapped around me and closed my mind from any negative thoughts that lurked there. Nothing could ruin this moment of clarity and mother-daughter love.
'I love you!'
I guessed simple spoken words were enough to explain everything to her and I was right. She awarded me with another smile and softly kissed my forehead.
It didn't mean I got out of doing the dishes though, but instead of feeling guilted into helping, I faced the stack of dishes with a mature and optimistic attitude.
