Hello, all of you bookworms reading! For today’s post, I wanted to share an older piece of writing I previewed on my Instagram page last week. I also want to add a note here; this post has not been revised from its original final draft form from 2012. This assignment is the same as when I submitted it for my WRI 208 Creative Writing course in late 2011. I may rewrite this after seven more years of writing education and practice (depending on how many of you would enjoy seeing a comparison).
Would you enjoy seeing a before-and-after of this piece at a later date here? Give your answer in the comments, and please enjoy this memory vignette!
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The autumn day was grey and chilly, the fresh fallen leaves blowing all over the street and my yard from each gust of wind, rustling as they flew. I looked down my driveway at the steep hill that my family and neighbors called Pawnee Path. As boredom grew within me, so did a plan brewed in my mind that I was sure couldn’t fail. My vision shifted to my red, green, and tan wagon sitting in front of the shed by the back door. Ah, the physics that circulated through my young brain, making the gears within it grind. I would push myself a tad, rush down the hill in the wagon, and turn safely into my driveway. How could anything go wrong with a plan like that? I felt like a genius, but I could only gloat to myself.
Enough thinking, my brain told me. I grabbed the wagon by its long, black handle and pulled it up the steep street. My mind raced with thoughts as I gulped sharply, not knowing what the outcome would be. Looking down the hill made me think of reconsidering, leading me to need a few deep breaths. Will I make it? I asked myself. I reached the top of the street and the excitement rushed through me. All of a sudden, Pawnee Path seemed even bigger than I’d thought. My body began to shake before I sat down and pushed myself.
As soon as I knew it, the wagon moved. I flew down the street, just like I planned to! The rumbling of the wheels on the rocks made the suspense more dreadful than before as I anticipated the right moment to turn. The moment I approached my driveway, I leaned my body to the left. I was going to do it. My gut waited and began to feel sick as I waited for the big moment. The wagon rolled down the hill, gaining speed with each inch it moved. The driveway soon appeared, which was my chance finally arrived.
Unfortunately, my calculations were a “little” off concocting my genius plan. I made it into the driveway, but not smoothly like I had intended. When I leaned into my driveway, the wagon flipped over me twice. Each time I hit the ground hard, small, sharp rocks scraped against my sensitive skin. The shock from the wipeout disappeared, and I could feel myself lying on the rocky driveway. I tried to push myself up, but I ended up bumping my head against the wagon that landed on top of me when I rolled. I felt the scratches’ stings as I lay on the ground under that wagon. “Jess, are you okay??” I heard my mother calling frantically from our screened-in porch. I poked out from under the wagon as a tortoise would its shell with a smile on my face. “I’m all right!”