Creative Writing Assignment - Someone you love or hate

Write about a person you love or hate.

 It’s the dirty blonde hair that first makes me smile, the Noel Gallagher haircut that he refuses to let Mum cut off, he’ll look imploringly up at her with his baby blues and that bright sparkle and the conversation will rest until it’s brought up again during dinner. I’ve always been fascinated by him, and both relieved and worried at that childish innocence he has tucked away in every corner of his personality, it’s refreshing to see again, even if it’s merely on the grainy laptop screen as he laughs and pounces into a monologue about Minecraft. The minutes on Skype trickle by but I don’t mind, he’s alone back home now, so I can give him this to help him get by.

I can recall as vividly as yesterday being back home, laughing at him when he runs after Percy (one of our much beloved cats), he loves that cat so much and it’s difficult to watch him when Percy doesn’t come home to have his dinner, it’s unsettling to hear the strain in his voice when he yells into the night, “Percy!!” he’s always worried about that cat. When Percy comes back and he’s dripping wet from the rain, his paws soaked through and muddy, Fred would be fluttering around the room with a towel before cuddling the cat to his chest so tight he squeaks like a toy. The towel he had around his furry black back slipping off and aiding a trail of paws to tattoo his Spiderman pyjamas. Mum would scold him, but I would know she was just as relieved.

I can remember when he’d cry, his eyes blood-shot and the brightest of blues, I’d hug him till the tears that would roll off his chubby cheeks stopped falling and started drying, then I’d stroke his hair and murmur a story until he’d fall asleep. It was times like that that my faith in humanity would be restored.

He’s smart and yet for an eleven year old he’s completely modest about it, even though he’s been put into an ‘elite group of mathematicians’ in his school he doesn’t boast, it’s one of the things that always befuddled and warmed me; the honest modesty that you simply cannot fake (even if he is quite the actor too…) When I lived back at home he would often barge into my room, regardless of whatever I was doing I would be subject to watching and listening as he told me in a series of arm waving and laughing about Tintin, his favourite comics or rather “Chesca they’re called graphic novels.”

Fred is like any other younger brother I’m sure, and I’m positive that if you have a sibling you can relate to the swell of emotion that dances in your stomach when you proudly tell a stranger about your brother, your sister, older or younger, that light-hearted feeling is often the same no matter how annoying they can be.