It’s funny how you remember things: smells, or tastes, colours or sounds. With this being my very last breath, I really don’t mind that there are no more breaths after this one. Still, not to worry. Everything will be finished after this. Ahhhhh.
That was the end.
Getting there, though…to the end… well, that is the story. It is the story of a boy who was bored. His name is Hugh. Hugh Benjamin Braithwaite. He has a dad whose name is… and a mum called. .. Because you need both of those to be born. When Hugh Benjamin Braithwaite was born, he opened his eyes, and they were blue. He looked out at the world as if it were a curious place and that it should be very grateful that Hugh Benjamin Braithwaite had been born. He was a happy baby. He had his own bed, in his own room, and a cupboard full of toys. But most of all, he had a growing collection of books. He even had books with no words in for him to fill up with his own words when he was ready to. As soon as he learned his words, Hugh started to make up stories, and he kept a diary from a very early age. His first diary entries were just dashes and squiggles as he learned new motor skills. Then he drew pictures before he moved on to words. Pictures of houses and of people and of the stories in the books on his shelves. He drew pictures of paintings in the art galleries he visited, and of exhibits he saw at museums.
Then one day there was a terrible accident. This wasn’t just the sort of accident where you drop something and make a mess. This was a life and death sort of accident. Hugh Benjamin Braithwaite lost someone he loved. I lost someone I loved.
Let me tell you what happened. It was a beautiful day in the summer. The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, the bees were buzzing, and everything was as it should be. It was a grand day for having a picnic. And that is what my family decided to do. We were having a picnic in the valley, with sandwiches, juice, Scotch eggs and coleslaw. There was fruit for pudding. It was a glorious picnic up until the landslide.
Rocks started to fall on our picnic. My mother was suddenly trapped under a very large rock. It crushed her flat. The grass was still growing, the bees were still buzzing, but my dad sat in the grass and cried. There was nothing he could do. In the end he stood up and walked away.
That was the day my dad became a troll hunter. Some people think trolls are not very clever. But they are very strong and very hard. They are useful for some things like working in foundries and mines, doing hard, manual things. To catch trolls you have to annoy them first. You have to have a troll pit. You have to drop them in and then cover them with nets and tie them with ropes. One of the grand things about trolls is.....
There is more, but you will never know sorry about that but not much. Thanks for reading Have a good day
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