This story is based on the poem 'The Hunchback in the Park' by Dylan Thomas. It was originally an assignment but since I'm sadly losing fans, I put it up here to show you guys how I write. Enjoy♥
I used to watch him every day except Sundays, that was family day. I felt like I could relate to him, more than ever when I saw the other children. I watched as he hobbled over to the water tap, bent as a rainbow, mood like the thunder, only to find his only means to get water blocked. He couldn't afford food so I'd often see him rummaging in dustbins or begging at people's feet.
It started the same day I first saw him. The same boys did it. It was like watching a film, with the hunchback playing my part. In school, the boys would pull my hair, push me down stairs and try to break my toy boats. My dad gave me those. I used to save them though, at any cost and take them to the park. The place that only existed when it was open, like the hunchback’s life. Like my life.
Sometimes I’d see him shaking his fist at those animals, but that would just trigger their laughter even more. He used to then limp off to the trees, only to be followed by them. They swung on the branches kicking out at the hunchback, but cleverly missing his face by a hairline. Sometimes they’d do the same to me. In school, whenever we had to do sports, they’d make sure I was picked last, no matter how good I was. They would kick out at me by isolating me, surrounding me with their taunts and jeers. But I could not tell anyone.
If I told my mother she’d only cry and feel terrible about my father’s death. She would try and help but she would be too disappointed to put her heart into it. Sometimes, at times like those, I really wished my father were here. I wouldn’t have had to constantly hide my bruises... or my feelings. I could not tell my school because all the teachers favoured these boys and the one teacher that wouldn’t be biased would have told my mother, which would just lead to her tears and disappointment. I couldn’t put my mother through that, not after what had happened. I used to pray to God, every night, that I would be left alone, and then I’d feel terrified to wake up when the sun splayed its rays upon the Earth. The only time I’d feel even marginally better was when I went to the park.
My father used to take me there all the time. We used to sit under the oak trees and paint the tiny boats he eventually gave me. Then he’d tell me stories about swashbuckling pirates and beautiful maidens who were secretly princesses. It all may sound clichéd but when my father told them it was like I was the pirate or the king, finally finding his beloved daughter. The park would be our own little world where nobody could separate us. But of course, we did get separated.
It was that terrible day when my father’s publisher asked him to rush to his office as there was a small fire. Father told me to go straight home and that he wouldn’t be long. So I did. The only difference was he took long... too long. By the time Mother and I reached his office, all that remained were a few metal pokers and ruins. There was nothing else to it. We sat there for what seemed like eternity, first raw from shock, then in floods of tears, the just numb, still not fully believing what had happened. It was only the next morning when I got the full blow of what had happened when I came downstairs to find my house packed with people in black. Familiar faces. My mother dressed me as usual and after I’d had breakfast I trailed off to school, dragging my feet as I went. Little did I know that was the day it would start and the day I’d see him for the very first time.
The news of my father’s death had spread like a wildfi... quickly. Most people were sensitive and didn’t ask questions. But their faces put me on edge. I didn’t need their sympathy. I slowly started pushing people away and at first, I thought those boys understood, that’s why they didn’t pull the dreaded face. But no. They were far from understanding. Instead they teased me about it and said how I’d finally realized that my father’s world was meant to be left in his books. Truth is, I’d always known I’d have to come back to reality after my father’s story had finished, I just didn’t know I’d never enter his world again. That was the day I first went to the park again. I sat next to the fountain, far from the oak trees and played with my boats. Then I saw him. He was hobbling around, eating whatever he could, and muttering to himself. At first, I thought he was a madman, bent in search for food but after an hour I realized two things: one, why he was so bad-tempered- the children and two, why he was so bent- he was a hunchback.
Pity spread all over my body and must have reached my face because the next time he looked at me, I faintly heard a ‘what?!’
One day I decided to stay in the park just a bit longer than usual. I waited for the park keeper to lock the gates, hiding behind the oak trees. As I watched the hunchback, he sat down next to the pond in the far corner and leaned against the bench. He sat there for hours, a pleasant look on his gnarled face. Then, very slowly, he stood up and, as if by magic, his back straightened up to looking like the trees around us. I gasped as he started dancing with an imaginary woman, laughing and jumping in delight. Then, just as slowly as he’d stood up, the hunchback sat down, his back bending over once more. I was shocked at what I had seen that night and I kept thinking about it on my way home. Had he really danced or was it just our imaginations? I say he danced.
Please tell me what you think! And vote as well. Thanks muchly.♥
