I wrote this story during a creative writing course. We were asked to describe our very first Hiding place and turn it into a story…
This slum used to be jammed day and night. In a large family, hiding places are like four-leaf clovers, you are pretty sure it exists but… Dream on! You will never find one.
Sometimes when her five older sisters were at school, and her mum had to go to work, Rose used to spend the afternoon with her great-grandmother, Mamine. She was so tiny and she cooked such a delicious ratatouille. She was one of these grandmas just the way we like them. While Mamine was preparing Rose’s favourite snack – a yogurt cake with some homemade jam on it and a juice in a picnic basket – Rose was playing in the back garden for hours, running until short of breath, and fighting a bunch of stupid dragons.
On that day, she was indeed giving a good lesson to Bulbizar, this stupid dragon who was spending his time teasing his little brothers. But when she was just about to strike the critical blow to the beast, she accidentally tripped over a wooden board.
Ouch. As she was lying on the ground, her new perspective allowed her to notice something that she had never paid attention to before: a little hole in the barbed-wire fence was hidden behind the board. It was just big enough to get into the neighbour’s garden.
She walked through the trees where the little hut was nested. Its only playmate was a tired child-swing at its side. It has been a long time since someone has used it. The key of the hut was hooked at a twisted nail. Rose had to stand on her tiptoes to reach it. Spider webs stretched their limbs as she walked into the hut. Radiuses of dust were floating in the air. And there was this musty smell, a fusion of old wood, dust and cold tobacco. She found it strangely comforting. She sat down on a shaky wooden stool, looking all around her. “No way! – She exclaimed – “this going to be my place!”