"Why won't you forget? List six true sentences that begin with the words 'I'll never forget...' Then use all six of your sentences in a paragraph, poem, or longer descriptive piece."
—Prompt taken from WritingFix.com.
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I’ll never forget lighting a mosquito coil in my tent while trying to sleep one night in northern Ontario, hoping that I wouldn’t set myself on fire. It was the only way to sleep with all the no-see-ums biting me all over my body and, since it was so hot, I couldn’t stay in my sleeping bag, either. The burn mark under the tent’s tiny window was a testimony to my foolishness. Still, I did get a few hours of sleep. There we were, Mark and I, in the middle of a gravel pit somewhere in Northern Ontario, each of us in our own private, bug ridden hell. It wasn’t as bad for me—Mark couldn’t help scratching his bites and, soon, his arms and legs were a mass of bloody scabs. Even as he rode down the TransCanada highway, he scratched himself, until I feared he would infect himself with some exotic, black fly carried, disease of some sort or another. But he didn’t and I survived a few more nights in my little orange tent beside the highway until, finally, we left the bugs behind us and entered a city where crews with tanks of toxic chemicals had kept the hordes of insects at bay. I’ll never forget it as long as I live!
—216 words
I remember when I shouted at my grandma, “Why don’t you love me? Is it my fault to born as a girl?” and she just smiled at me. I hated that.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon; when the phone rang, and my mom answered the phone. A few minutes later, she hung up the phone, and stood beside the phone for a while.
“Who was it, mom?”
“It was your dad. . . My mom, your grandma has just passed away. . .” as she said this, I noticed her voice was changing.
It was two weeks before we leave Canada for good.
I, of course, was stunned because she cared about me, and prayed for me to do good in foreign country.
I didn’t know why, but next I knew my face was covered with tears and I began to wail.
“Why did she have to die, why? Why couldn’t she wait another two weeks more? We’re gonna be there and . . .”
I couldn’t say another thing and I cried and cried until my body got weary from crying.
-183 words.
I’ll never forget Professor Cao for his abundant knowledge and, especially for his advice in my study.
Once a time, I visited him for consultation. It was about the basic law of the engagement of the gears (toothed wheels). In the processing of the proof, suddenly he murmured: “Ouch, it‘s wrong!” Then he continued his work till he proved the law completely.
Looking at my surprising expression, he said “There is some offsets away from our textbook; however, I’ve shown you the second method of the proof.”
Discovering I was fond in that, he happily proved it by the third and fourth methods in 20 minutes—that really made me astonished –things looked like so easy.
Then we had chitchat. The most important words I remained till now were “to read good book, some master’s books, to widen your field of vision and deepen your thinking.”
Following his instruction, I read “The Mathematical Principles of the Natural Philosophy” written by Isaac Newton. The first glance of his second law of the motion in this book was impressive. It’s quite different from our text book not only the derivate form of the vector but the mass “m” was put into the bracket to be differentiated. It seemed that as if Newton had already predicted the nature’s mystery (the mass can be changed) as Albert Einstein knew later. It’s really a master’s book—it benefited me a great deal.
Professor Cao is my idol. He is a giant in my mind, and I’ll never forget his teachings.
Words: 255
Since he woke up, he was quiet. He was sitting in the yard which usually was not his routine (for forty years my uncle was a very energetic person).-he loved to do exercise for a couple hours every morning.
“Hey buddy why are you sitting here? You did not go for morning walk” my dad asked, when he saw him.
He just gave a fake smile.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” my dad asked again.
“Don’t ask me anything, leave me alone.” (He was not loud but he was rude)
My dad was shocked .he did not say anything to him; he started to drink the tea sat beside him. While was taking tea he was keeping his eyes on my uncle. After a few minutes, he started sweating.
This time my dad was worried. He held his hand and started asking again,” tell me what is wrong with you he was loud. We all came outside.
His face was becoming pale and his body was shaking. He fell down in my dad‘s arm. Before we could call an ambulance, he died.
We did not know how long he was surviving with pain but we cannot forget his painful and palel face
Word 196
I’ll never forget my first wristwatch (my father’s promised gift) given to me for becoming a school student, “You’ll need to learn how to manage time,” said my father, “you are a big girl now!” Finally, I got my dream watch.
“This is not the real watch; I want the real one just like yours. I am big now!” I was telling my father when they gave me fake ones the previous times.
My real watch came with a white box. It was round shaped, golden with a white centre, and it had several wristbands: blue, black, green, frost white, pink, and purple. I remember looking at it from different directions trying each one of the bands- I would look at it in sunshine and see it shining, and in the shadow; even I stood in front a mirror and looked at my wrist to see it from other people’s point of view.
“I think it’s early for a six year old to have a fancy wristwatch. You are spoiling her.” My aunt would say.
“She is about to learn time, so there is nothing wrong with her having the watch she likes”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea to sent her to school at six. She can start next year. ”
I did not like my aunt for being hard on me. I was counting days to be called a “School Student” and have a watch. It was a dream comes true. My wristwatch gave me the confidence and feelings of being a grown up at that time.
260 words
I'll never forget confronting my step father and the fist fight- and blood- that followed. Courage is something that I lacked for a long period in my life. I was raised to not be a fighter (to be passive) in most situations- aside from life or death. So growing up I never had many problems in school, or anywhere else for that matter. One man changed that.
My step father Tony could very well be the most literal scum of the earth possible. He spent 10 years coming in and out of the family, creating more problems each time he would return. Originally I had naturally grown fearful of him-being an alcoholic drug abuser by nature- he could be aggressive and spontaneous. I'll never forget the day I have come to call my breaking point.
"Get out of MY house!" I yelled viciously down the basement stairs.
Tony came running up faster then I had expected.
"Excuse me? You little shit, did you say YOUR house?"
I cleared my throat with a sense of confidence I never thought possible.
"Yes Tony, my house. Since we both know that at 16, I'm more of a man then you will ever be!"
Crunch. At least that's what I felt and heard as I fell to the floor and crimson poured onto my chest. I couldn't feel my nose, only the warmth of blood that was streaming down my face. This was exactly what I was waiting for.
I rose to my feet.
"If you never heard me the first time? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Then before I could even think, I quickly grabbed the bear mace I had hidden in my left pocket, raised it, and sprayed. I knew there was no way I could win this fight head to head. I needed a compromise.
He fell to the ground screaming in a way that must have been humiliating. Then I made my move. I jumped on his chest and started swinging- Crunch-.
"That's for all the times you made mom cry!"
-Crunch-
"That's for all the times you came home drunk telling me I'm useless!"
-Crunch-
"That's for ruining this family for the past 10 years!"
Then I stopped- standing on top of him- seeing the blood that now covered his shirt as well; Reveling at the pain he was enduring; Soaking up the feeling of power that for so long, only he had.
"And this? Is for breaking my nose, you piece of shit!"
Faster then I thought possible, I lifted my left foot up and jabbed my heel sharply in his groin.
He screamed in pain as I used my sleeve to wipe away the blood (and sweat) that covered my face and neck.
I'll never forget standing up for myself.
I'll never forget the fisrt time I saw my dog on street hit in a car accident when I was driving on my way to office. She was lying in a mass of blood of her own. The vehicle which hit her already left. Some cars stopped in front of her--probably didn't want to drive over her body. They were honking her when I stepped out of my car with a small cusion. She was wailing, in a special way asking for help. I saw her tried to stand up in front of those gaint steel monsters. While she was struggling, the blood still came from her mouth and nose. She looked at me with her beautiful eyes, pleaing obviously. I was little worried she would bite me if I moved her body, but there was no time to overthink. And like a mirable, she cooperated very well. She definitely understood the kindness in my eyes and there was no barries in our communication.
I will never forget my first day of middle school. It was awful. I was a good student in elementary school, and everybody including my teachers, my parents, and my friends thought without a doubt that I could get into one of the famous middle schools. To their astonishment, I had to enter into a second-class middle school due to my unsatisfactory marks. I was ashamed of my failure, and this kind of feeling was the strongest on my first day of school. As a punishment, I wore clothes which were ugly in my opinion. On the way to the school, I was in no mood to enjoy the scenery through the bus window. By the time, the bus stopped at the gate of the school, I had already been dissolved in tears. Walking into the school, I told myself I would leave this school in three years. In the process of my schooling, the first day of middle school was an unforgettable experience.
I’ll never forget climbing the mango tree at night, feeling it with my bare palms because it was dark. Four of my roommates (they were my relatives) and I would sneak behind the house and go across the swarm where the huge mango tree stood.
I remember one night after stealing mango, hidden in our black bags, we didn’t want to walk on the main road to arise suspicion; so we decided to run in the swarm because it was shorter and less chance of us being spotted.
But something was there, which scared us. Whether it was an animal groaning (or a creature people are superstitious about) or moaning, we couldn’t tell and that freaked us out. Though we were brave enough to go out in the dark, we didn’t have the guts to get in that swarm and cross—we headed back toward the main road, which was well lit and crowded—and what we feared happened.
“Do you know that long legs [one of our neighbors] was gossiping about you guys?” our friend said the next morning when she came to sit with us near the morning fire.
We glared toward her house and saw long legs standing there. Then we looked at her again.
“What did she say?” Martin, the oldest girl of five (us) asked.
“She said despite the food you guys eat at your house, y’all still go out to steal mango. She wonders why y’all do that because she’s sure it’s not because of hunger. ‘That should be guys things, not girls’ she added.”
We followed her to her house in five minutes after she passed by us, acting as if nothing happened. When we asked her, she threatened to tell our brother if we didn’t disappear in a blink of an eye. We disappear and reappear again at night.
We waited till she came out, looking for something to gossip about in the morning.
Then we put down the rusty bucket in her well, and she came toward us. “I’ll tell your brother ‘bout this!” she yelled.
“Oh really?” Martin said. “We’ll tell him that you were gossiping about him and his wife. He’ll believe us more than you. After all, you’re well-known for gossiping.”
She was silent.
“That’s what you get for talking behind our backs,” Mafata added. We pulled up the bucket and headed home. I’ll never forget those nights.
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