Wrting blog 5

The children in my village
The grandmother’s funeral finished, I roamed on a familiar muddy road. Everything in my village completely changed, even children. The children, who I used to play with, now became adults. Their voice changed. Their smile changed, and their love for me also changed. They actually forgot me, forgot their neighbor sister.
Recalling old memories, I laughed alone. Five years ago, as a leader, I often gathered neighbor children at a deserted house. We played many games. I remember that I separated them into two groups, and we pretended to fight together. We used small sticks to make sharp spears and killed together. Sometimes, some of them were killed, but they still stood up and went on fighting. Some remaining children became disgruntled. They began a real war. I actually feared if they hurt together. Then, I found ways to reconcile between those children. Finally, I seduced them by playing a new game. I asked two children to find vacant milk can. I assigned others the task of buying a candle. When they collected all of them, I made two small holes on two lids of the vacant milk can and put the candle in. After we finished, we went to a cemetery, where buried dead people. We placed the can near a new grave, maybe someone has been just buried for a few days. We read an incantation to call the dead person. According to hearsay, when the candle was lighted, the ghost would show up. While we were reading the incantation, we heard a strange sound from bushes. We scream, ran and scattered around the cemetery.
Although time made everything change, my memories about the children in my village remained in my head forever. I loved them. I loved our childhood memories.