Remember . . .
Remember when Nanny died . . . the taste of grapes in your mouth. Remember the smell of peppermints and roses. Remember the touch of material and cotton, and the hard wooden seats. Remember everyone crying and the roses sitting in pots, and the big brown crate sitting in the middle of the room. Remember hearing people sobbing and the violins playing. That was the day Nanny died.
By Makaela
WOW! Makaela!
ReplyDeleteThis is such a beautiful piece of writing.
I feel like I was also at the funeral because of the images you have created in your writing. The way that you described the seats and flowers reminded me of funerals that I have been to.
From Anna
Room 14
HES
Hi! I really like this writing because it was so detailed that I felt like I was there. I nearly cried. Great work Makaela.
ReplyDeleteFrom Rebecca Room14