Imaginative Writing

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Last Sunday, I woke to the annoying ringing of my alarm clock. Groaning, I dragged myself out of the warm covers and walked into the living room. Something was different. The kitchen was totally silent. Normally on Sundays, my mom would get up early and grill bacon and bread for my breakfast. I could always smell the sweet aroma of food and hear the sizzling sound of the bacon. However, there was no much smell or sound then. The house was quiet. Dead quiet.

I looked for my mom but couldn’t find her. I didn’t see Dad because he was on a business trip. I went into their room, but there was no sign of her. I was about to look elsewhere, but something caught my eye. I saw a doll sitting on mom’s bedside table. I’d never seen it before. I picked it up and gasped. The doll looked exactly like Mom! Her nightdress, however, did not belong to her. It looked vaguely familiar, though.

Suddenly, the doll moved. I yelped and dropped it on the bed. Slowly, I picked it up again. Its mouth was moving. I held it close to my ear and managed to figure out what she was saying. “Ouch! That hurts!” I was so stunned. The doll began to talk again, “I’m not a doll, okay? I’m Mom.”

“Then why are you so small?” I asked.

“That all attributes to your good deed, my girl. You must dry the drawing in your schoolbag before I can return to normal.”

A memory came to my head when I heard about the drawing. Just the night before, I had stuffed my bag into the washing machine with the painting I drew at school in it. In the drawing, Mom was wearing a blue night gown. I immediately made a connection. Apparently, she had managed to transform herself into the figure in the art.

I rushed to the washing machine and took my schoolbag out. From the inside of my schoolbag, I retrieved the painting and hung it on the washing line. I went back to Mom’s room and picked her up. I took her to the kitchen and found a tiny tube Mom used to use to feed me when I was a baby. I threw some bread into the blender and after blending, I scooped a spoonful of the bread crumbs into the tube and fed her. I did the same for lunch and dinner.

 

Finally, dusk fell. The drawing was dry and Mom resumed her normal size. That was the weirdest day of my life.