Just a writing excercise

Something I did for fun to test conveying the right feeling.

   A series of happy noises drifted from the bedroom of an eight-year-old boy, the sound of a child’s imagination at work. In his undeveloped mind he had nothing to worry about at the moment other than forcing one truck to collide with another and sputtering just so as to create the perfect resounding explosion.
   Until he heard the door of a car being slammed shut outside.
   He dropped his toys, his play forgotten as he pattered over to the window, hardly daring to look outside and see if it was true. But the shadow was answer enough. The great, hulking shadow of a man this boy feared more than the monsters in his closet. He looked away from the window toward the door of his bedroom, wondering if he should just lock it or go beyond, to face his terror. He told himself right away that he wouldn’t cry, he could be brave. He glanced at his closet, under his bed, behind his dresser, his eyes automatically taking account of all the hiding places he had available to him. But that wouldn’t halt what he knew would come. He would just have to be brave. It was the only way.
   His legs moved without his permission. The hall door was ajar"he pulled it the rest of the way open and slipped out into the entryway. The blue tile floor that he sometimes pretended was water felt cold under his bare feet. He heard big, stomping footsteps coming up the porch. A key turned in the lock. Maybe if he closed his eyes, it would all go away. But he knew it was just pretend.
   The door began to swing open.
   Father was home.

   A series of happy noises drifted from the bedroom of an eight-year-old boy, the sound of a child’s imagination at work. The toy cars and animals helped serve to distract him from the things he’d been thinking about before. They made him feel better for a while. He felt better when he was by himself.
   Until he heard the door of a car being slammed shut outside.
   The boy’s grip on his toys loosened as he turned his head toward the window. He knew who it was. No one would be coming to visit at this hour. He set up his toys to be ready for when he came back to his bedroom, delaying himself as much as he could before he heard the footsteps on the porch. He sighed when he finished, looking everywhere around his room for something else he could pick up or busy himself with. When he realized there was nothing, he dragged himself up off the floor and opened the door to his bedroom, making his way down the hall. He did this every time. He couldn’t help it, even though he always knew what he would see. He had to anyway.
   He opened the hall door just a crack so he could see without being seen. A key could be heard turning in the lock before the door opened to admit a tall man wearing a grey business suit and tie. The man didn’t stop on his way in, cradling an arm under his briefcase so as not to drop it as he went up the stairs to his bedroom. The boy closed the hall door, shoulders slumped as he shuffled back to his room.
   Father was home.
  
   A series of happy noises drifted from the bedroom of an eight-year-old boy, the sound of a child’s imagination at work. His mind was totally preoccupied with his toys as he gave taxi rides and got into car accidents, adding in his own high-quality sound effects here and there. He was almost so distracted that he didn’t hear the door of a car being slammed shut outside. But he did.
   You could practically see his ears perk up as he dropped his toys and eagerly opened the bedroom door, running recklessly out into the narrow hall. He felt the cool tile of the entryway floor under his feet as he stared at the front door, waiting to hear it being unlocked, hopping from one foot to the other and back with anticipation. 
   The footsteps coming up the porch seemed to take a long time to get to the door, and the key seemed to take an even longer time unlocking it, but the boy knew that it was only taking a few seconds for those things to happen. It just felt drawn out because he was being impatient. The door finally opened to admit a tall man wearing a gray business suit and tie, holding a briefcase under one arm. When he turned back from closing the door again the boy tackled him around his legs, hugging him tightly as he giggled with glee. He felt himself being swooped up in those long arms, carried in much the same way as the briefcase had been a few seconds ago. He was held secure by the warm hand under his belly as he kicked his legs playfully and laughed.
   Father was home.

Author's Note

Any tips are welcome :) P.S. Sorry about the random picture. My dog is just such a stud.

Reviews

[love, lorey]

#1. Well done, yeah! All 3 emotions are clearly, and beautifully displayed. I'm vaguely jealous. But only vaguely, so it's okay. Lol
#2. Dog is a major stud, yo. MAJOR.
#3. I shall be adding this to my list of writing prompts, so Thanks :)

L

[Lemunculus2]

Thanks! That's what I was going for. Not the vague jealousy, the emotions XD I know right? Them eyes. He'd be a diva if he was a chick. Good luck with your own writing! And thanks again for the great review :)

[love, lorey]

Anytime, yeah!