Creative Writing Assessment

[Angelina Johnson]

This is the finished version I presented today.
It's tentatively titled 'Little Girl Lost' but I'm still not happy with the title, TBH.

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There are people everywhere, too many people. You turn around, skirt lifting as you spin. Normally you would notice it, but your eyes are too busy peering through the crowd. What were they wearing again? Was it a blue jumper? Or was it red? You can’t remember. Panic starts to rise inside, slowly but steadily.

You never wanted to be here. Model trains are not your thing. You’d rather be at home, playing with your dolls. You’d rather be playing on your new computer. You’d even rather play with your little brother. After all, you’d only stopped for a minute. You’d stopped to look at the tiny family standing at the platform. The mother, small child balanced on her hip, stands almost patiently. Both their faces are curled into painted smiles. Next to her stands the father figure, taller than the others; his little face is more serious. In one hand is a miniature briefcase. In the other, held tightly, was the hand of a little girl. It was this little girl that had caught your eye in the first place. She has a white dress painted onto her small body, tiny white sandals on her feet. You look down at your own feet – there are white sandals there too. It was almost as if someone had painted a miniature version of your family.

Now it was just you, though. While you had stopped and watched the tiny family waiting for their train, you had lost your own. They disappeared, and now you can’t find them again. You walk away from the platform, towards another train on a different track. You keep your eyes peeled, searching through legs in an attempt to find some you recognise. You can’t see any sign of them – no mother with a small child balanced on her hip, no father with a briefcase. You keep searching, wandering through the crowd. Nobody seems to notice you – you have to push, excusing yourself in your biggest voice. You startle people out of the way. It’s almost as if you don’t exist at all. Nobody seems to notice that you’re lost or even that you’re there.

Just then, you catch a glimpse of blue – you duck in front of a lady in a cream coat – it’s a man. His jumper is blue, and he holds a briefcase in his left hand, just like the father on the platform. Just like your father. You breathe again, moving forward and slipping your hand happily into his. But it feels funny. It feels wrong. You turn, looking up at your father - except it’s not him. Suddenly, you feel tiny, and you begin to wish you hadn’t moved - that you could become the little girl on the platform. You mutter an apology as you let go of his hand and turn away. Your face is red hot with embarrassment, and you slowly walk towards the exit. You hope that at the very least, you can wait there until your family finds you again. That is, you think, if they do at all.

You begin to push your way back through the crowd. You try to be faster, try to beat your family to the exit so they don’t think to leave without you. You wonder how long it might take to walk home alone – you realise you don’t even know where you are. You’re not even halfway to the door when a man picks you up. He is wearing a black jumper, carrying a briefcase in his hand. As you see his face – one which you know almost by memory – your eyes start to well up with tears. You bury your head in his shoulder, inhaling the smell of your father. You wrap your little arms around his neck as you begin to cry. Your tears soak into the coarse wool, and he carries you to the exit. All you can do is bury your face even further in his shoulder and mumble.

“I thought he was you.”

[Lily Evans]

OMG I remember when you showed me the first draft of this!
Still love it.

[Angelina Johnson]

Well, I'm glad. XD

[Arthur Weasley]

This is really good. I love it!

[Angelina Johnson]

Thanks gorgeous!

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