Creative Writing: Going To The Lake

999 Words2 Pages

When I was younger, I use to love going to the lake with them. Every summer, the four of us would get driven to my Grandma’s house, wriggling with excitement the entire way. The lake wasn’t far from the old cottage, hidden in the little patch of woods that enveloped the west and south side. Back when my grandma was still alive, the four of us would run crazily in our swimsuits to that pool of water, and she would chuckle and stroll behind. It was our little haven, where our friendships grew and the outside world faded away into nothing. Ten years later and the car rumbles on the same gravelly road again. Except this time my stomach clenches and I am alone with my thoughts. The road gives way to a narrow pathway sprawling with weeds and pebbles …show more content…

That one summer day destroyed my sanctuary and I dread seeing the little old cottage. The house watches me, it's bleeding eyes and gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. My mind flashes back to the beautiful summer’s day, the leaves a bright green and the air warm with moisture. Waiting impatiently for Gabriel, Ruby and Elliot to hurry up. Puffing my chest out with pride when Grandma entrusted me to take them to the lake. Running elatedly into the woods, the air around us charged with the carefree spirits of four, eight-year-olds. I remember the way Gabe’s blonde hair stuck up, and how Ruby’s bright smile lit up her face. Most of all though, I remember Elliot, panting heavily, her face flushed with excitement, all bright, red hair and small, pale hands. We had reached a long, hollow log which I had promptly stood on to proclaim my grand …show more content…

It looks exactly the same, long and hollow covered with a fine layer of chartreuse moss. This was when I would stand on it and declare an awe-inspiring fact. Gabe would always smirk, as if it was something childish and embarrassing. Now looking back, I guess it was. But they had always, always listened no matter what. Except no one’s here now. Not Ruby or Gabriel or even little Ellie. I am alone. All alone. “Marco”, I whisper quietly. “Polo”, they answer, three different voices ringing out around me, in unison. I stagger backwards, my heart hammering erratically as three familiar faces glide out towards me. The edge of my horror-filled gaze catches sight of the lake. It is frozen. Just like last time. A frozen lake. A little boy in the middle. And three corpses floating around him. One with a blue top and short, blonde hair. Its skin is blue and puckered up into mounds of flesh. One with long brown ringlets, arms swelled beyond comprehension. And lastly one with a small hand and perfectly round nails, mottled with a myriad of blues and blacks. Red hair, that was once streaked with happiness and the light of a thousand suns, hanging limply in strands, its bright lustre gone. The little boy

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