Narrative Story-The TREASURE BOX!

All I can see is death and destruction covering our fantastic village  with a deadly and
dangerous plague that infects everyone around it. People screaming in agony as shots
terminate and terrify the villagers, People are wondering who would do such a life -
threatening crime. 

Dad and I  with all the villagers pack up all of their belongings and leave the village.
It still smells like burnt bodies and rotting flesh. The villagers feet are warm on the
inside but on the outside it feels like wintering snow on a cold Christmas night filled
snowflakes.   

As we were marching through the frosty snow, I was still thinking about my mum who
had been missing for 2 days before the bombing. I remembered all the times that I
spend together with mum. When last year mum made me  delicious mouth filling
cookies that tasted so delicious that with each bite it would take me to heaven. Or when
the time mum made me her famous hot chocolate. I loved it so much that I would call
it the families special. Deep in my heart I will love  mum to the end of my own life and
I continue to wish I would find mum someday in the future.

15 miles from our new home my dad shows signs of being sick, coughing, sneezing,
headache and stomach ache. I walk up to him and say “Dad what’s wrong,” he told me
that he is becoming very ill and won’t last much longer. Dad gives me a book and tells
me to keep it safe for us and our people for it is a treasure. When father told me this his
words shattered my heart into tiny baby sized pieces. At night I hold on to the treasure
while gripping his hands through the  icy darkness. When morning comes I buried my
dad covering him in soft warm blankets as people throw their special belongings as a
gift into his grave. After the burial the people told me to leave the box with the treasure
inside but instead I leave the suitcase and take the treasure because it is most important. 

After feeling the effects  of my father’s death I found an old linden tree that looked like
it lived throughout the 16th century it was a perfect place to bury my father’s treasure.
When I placed my father  in the hole a tear came running down my face but for my
father I had to be strong so I wiped the tear away and buried my father’s treasure. I left
a pretty flower on top of the buried treasure as a symbol of our people and my love for
my father.

When each year turns into the next I have grown from a young helpful child to a
young responsible and wealthy man. While I was walking through a huge farm I
saw a little girl who was playing on the swings next to the oldest linden tree,
the place that I buried my father’s treasure when I was a child.  I walked up
to the little girl and said “Hey do you want to see my father’s treasure,” the
girl said ”Oh yes please.” I dug up the treasure and opened the box, before
I could say a word to the little girl she said “Is there any rubies, silver or gold,”
but I explained and told her ”my father’s treasure was a book but not just any
ordinary book this book was about our people, about us it was greater than rubies,
silver and gold.

After I showed the little my family secret it reminded me of the old library that I used
to go to when I was 5, I asked the farmer’ permission to borrow his horse to travel
back to my old village. He said “Yes you fine and kind gentlemen.’’ So I took the
treasure box with me and sallied out to my village. On my journey, I saw my
father’s grave. I stopped to give him a picture of me with both mum and him
so he can remember our faces shining upon his quiet and peaceful sleep as a
gift from God himself. As I approach my destination point I hop off my
neighbours horse and find the old library, rebuilt like it was made for glory and
honour.  I went inside the library and it was more beautiful and majestic than ever.
It looked like it was my own fairy tale story that never ends. I sit outside the library
painting it, so I can remember the time I spent everyday reading books that meant
so much to me and my family.