Archive for the '10 Years Old' Category

Ten Year Old – Patrick ‘Paddy’ Clarke

– Do yours? said Kevin.

– Have fights?

– Yeah.

– No.

– What did you ask for then? They must.

– They don’t, I said. – They have arguments, that’s all; like yours.

– What did you ask me for then?

– My uncle and auntie, I said. – My ma was talking about it to my da. My uncle hit my auntie and she hit him back and she called the guards.

– What did they do?

– They arrested him, I said. – They came for him in a car with a siren.

– Is he in jail?

– No; they let him out. He had to promise that he’d never do it again. On paper. He had to write it down and sign his name under it. And if he ever does it again he has to go to jail for ten years and my boy cousins get sent to Artane and my auntie keeps my girl cousins cos she wouldn’t be able to afford to keep them all.

– What does your uncle look like?

– Big.

– Ten years, said Kevin.

That was as old as us.

– That’s ages just for hitting someone. And what about her? he remembered. – She hit him as well.

– Not hard, I said.

I loved making up stuff; I loved the way the next bit came into my head, it made sense and expanded and I couldn’t keep going till I came to the end; it was like being in a race. I always won. I told it the second I made it up, but I believed it, I really did.

Roddy Doyle, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha

Published in: 10 Years Old | on November 14th, 2009 | 1 Comment »

Ten Year Old – Jane Eyre

‘Who could want me?’ I asked inwardly, as with both hands I turned the stiff door-handle which, for a second or two, resisted my efforts. ‘What should I see besides Aunt Reed in the apartment? – a man or a woman?’ The handle turned, the door unclosed, and passing through, and curtseying low, I looked up at – a black pillar! – such, at least, appeared to me, at first sight, the straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug; the grim face at the top was like a carved mask, placed above the shaft by way of capital.

Mrs Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made a signal for me to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stony stranger with the words –

‘This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to you.’

He – for it was a man – turned his head slowly towards where I stood, and having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking gray eyes which twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass voice –

‘Her size is small; what is her age?’

‘Ten years.’

‘So much?’ was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny for some minutes. Presently he address me –

‘Your name, little girl?’

‘Jane Eyre, sir.’

In uttering these words I looked up; he seemed to me a tall gentleman, but then I was very little; his features were large, and they and all the lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.

‘Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?’

Charlotte BrontëJane Eyre

Published in: 10 Years Old | on November 14th, 2009 | 1 Comment »