Creative Story Writing
There is one place that I always enjoy going to. In rain or shine, on a weekend or weekday it did not matter to me. This is a place where I grew up ever since I was born, or actually I should say it was also my first home. This is a place where all my family would get together for all different types of events like holidays, birthdays, and just any excuse for the family to get together. That place is my grandparent’s old home, but that place is gone now. The place was sold and now the only thing that is left are memories.
My grandparent’s home was located in this little town named Long Eaton. The house was a little white, semi-detached house with a deep red tiled roof. This house has been around since my grandparents emigrated from India, and my father was only seven years old. It was a humble home, with only three bedrooms; although the downstairs extension was put on much later, did increase the size a little. This house contained a small kitchen, and a living room. It did although have a nice front and back yard but they were also small. In the back yard my grandpa had it filled with different types of plants and crops. Mostly too tropic to grow, but no one ever attempted to tell him so, so he never gave up trying. The back of the house looked like a jungle. And he also had a chicken house and a dog that was solid black named ‘Kutha’ – which when translated from Hindi meant dog, which I always thought was highly original. This is also where my grandparents’ raised their six kids. When we would visit everybody would forget about their day to day troubles – that’s probably what I miss most about that house.
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At my grandparents home is where we all celebrated all the different events. We celebrated holidays, birthdays, and any time when the family would come down from out of town, every body would get together and make different types of foods. They would have various curries, samosas and just basically you could say a lot of Mexican food.
My grandparent’s old home is now gone. They sold the house and the only thing that is left are the memories of all the different events that where held there. It is a good thing! Even though I enjoy going there every chance I got. The reason why it’s a good thing is because now they live in a big home. Their new home contains four bedrooms, two restrooms, two living rooms, a huge kitchen, and a big front and back yard. Now my grandparents have more room to for their crops, plants, and chickens. Now new memories are being created at the new home and even better then before. Every body in the family enjoys the home. That’s way it was a good thing but sad that they sold the little house.
After the years go by I look back to the past and still remember that old little house. I still get to see the old little house that was my first home. My grandparents still live in the same town and they only live one street away from the old house. Every time I go visit my grandparents I pass by the old little house and remember how it used to look when my grandparents lived there. The new owners have remodel the house by putting in new rooms, painting, adding new things and just totally different from what I remember. Then I ask my self, “How did all those people fit in that little old house?” Every time I pass by I always see the concrete that my grandfather laid out and my brothers and I got to put our handprints on. You can always remodel a home, add things to it, making it totally different from what is was before, but the memories will always live on. Like my memories about my favorite place that I hold in my heart.
The piece was intended to be written as one with great emotive language and feeling. This is as the account is actually true – therefore I attempted to embed my own emotion within the text. Thus I began the text with my individual feelings of the most important place in my view