|Up the Hill|
|Sighing, I picked up the last magazine on the
stack of about one hundred. I'm sitting in the hot, Hillyvale Hospital, bored out of my
mind. I've been wasting my holidays for the last week, because my stupid twin brother has
concussion. Now I, Jill Welling, have to sit in this lousy room, which smells like
disinfectant and other medical stuff, watching boring talk shows on television and reading
Woman's Day and other rubbish.
Sorry, now I'm losing my temper. You're probably wondering what I'm going on about, so I'll start at the beginning.
Just last week, Jack and I were sitting on the lounge arguing over what TV show to watch. Mum marched in looking very cranky. I guess the iron had been playing up again. Or maybe she had a lot of folding to do. Anyway, Mum marched in looking very cranky. "Would you two stop arguing for once and fetch me some water?" she said angrily.
Without waiting for an answer of any sort, she turned and stalked back to the laundry.
In case you're wondering, our parents don't believe in wasting money on natural resources, so instead, Jack and I have to go up a monstrous hill to a little well to fetch water in a huge, extremely heavy bucket, twice a day.
|So Jack, the huge bucket and I headed up the
hill. Together we hauled up some water and began to go back down the hill, water splashing
over the sides. Jack always complained I'm too slow, but I just went slowly so all the
water wouldn't shosh out and we have to go back up the hill again. So there we were, Jack
practically running and me, struggling to keep the water in the bucket. That's when it
happened. Mum says it's been an accident waiting to happen for a long time. Jack fell and
bumped down the hill headfirst. Now, this was all very funny until I tripped over the
bucket and tumbled down after him, dirtying my new, white shirt. When I got to the bottom,
Jack was lying unconscious on his stomach. I yelled for Mum, who immediately began crying,
and Dad, who rushed to ring for an ambulance.
By the time it arrived, Mum was hysterical. She didn't even offer me a band-aid for my cuts. To top it off, Dad tried to talk me into admitting that it was kind of my fault. Of course I didn't admit that it was kind of my fault, because it was Jack's fault. You get what you deserve, I always say.
But you know, one good thing did come out of this. Our parents got a water system. Jack and I never have to go up the hill again!
|This page is part of the 'writing in highfields and crow's nest' creative writing and web publishing project funded with an International Year of Older Persons allocation by Public Libraries Division of the State Library of Queensland for Crow's Nest Shire District Libraries.||Page
design by Daryll Bellingham, storyteller.
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|Last update: 26th August, 2003.|