I Live In A Tent In Sefton Park
Lewis was trudging up Sefton Park, occasionally kicking the odd bit of snow and looking up at the bright stars. He soon found a comfortable spot and set up his dad’s tent. He had stormed out of his house when mum said that she wasn’t getting a new football for him. He had everything he needed for survival. Five packs of Jammie-dodgers and a sleeping bag. He could survive for weeks. After the tent was set up, he rolled out his sleeping bag, and snuggled down. Being very plump and tall, he barely fitted into the miniscule childes sleeping bag, and his oversized was barely on the tiny pillow. But eventually he drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of moist tender sausages on a BBQ.
He was woken up by the sound gleeful shouts. His long main of blonde hair was sticking up at the back and his blue, inquisitive eyes caught the pack of Jammie-dodgers. Chucking the now empty packet aside, he poked his head outside. It was like crystallised vanilla ice-cream had been spilt over the park. Then he remembered that snow was only fun with the company of other people. But he was not going to give in to the mean, annoying people who would not buy him a ball. So he spent his time in the cold, lonely tent, eating his biscuits and longing for the warmth of his mums arms.
That night, he could not sleep. He fearfully looked around at his tent. In his minds eye he saw the shadows of werewolves and witches silhouetted against his tent. So he covered his eyes and tried to get some sleep. He was hungry, tired and lonely. The harsh sunlight hurt his eyes; he looked outside and saw his grey coloured house. He could just make out his family and then saw what their breakfast was, FAT, MOIST SAUSSAGES!
Before he knew it his legs were working like mad. He was like a dog with treats. He would do anything for the greasy taste of sausages. As he bit into the warm sausages he declared to his mum, “I still want that football.”
By George Holder