So, I actually read the story I posted on the blog yesterday, written as an 8-year-old. And, to be honest, I have no idea WTF I was doing back then…
‘We just loved’
Apparently, you make babies when you’re homeless, poor and fucking in a loo — good to know, lil L.
‘A million miles an hour’
On the M25 (a motorway/highway), apparently — you’d be lucky to reach 10 mph! And then casually just strolling over to the side of the road like ‘yeah, it’s cool … I do did kinda thing all da time innit’
Quick side note from earlier: how the hell did 8-year-old me know about dodgy pornos (i.e fucking in a public toilet) at that age? … Not that I know about them now, either…
I was clearly just slightly obsessed with murdering people, especially murdering old-aged pensioners. And burning people’s houses down … and being abducted by creepy men called Garry (literally a name designed for goldfish (sorry if you’re called garry BTW)) … and being killed on a stage…
Also, how on Earth did they record their own deaths? Who actually says ‘fading … fading …’ as they snuff it?
Also, making frequent references to iPhones in the hope that my book would become super famous, I’d earn ALL the moneys and my parents would buy me an iPhone — welcome to my 8-year-old life, guys.
If you haven’t read this story from yesterday, what i’m writing here probably makes even less sense than it does if you have. that’s quite odd, actually; this must look insane, no? (BTW read the fucking story it’s goals)
Anyways, there are just a few observation’s based on my 8-year-old self’s writing/storytelling abilities — enjoy!