My Grandma

This is a story I wrote a few weeks ago. I am 10, but I would love it if you don't judge by age. It is a short story

My great-grandmother’s small apartment had old, beige walls, and wooden door-frames. Her kitchen was small, with sweet-smelling fumes. Her stove and oven were both made of silver, and were rusting away, along with a small beige fridge. Her floors were made of wood in the living room, and tile in the kitchen. I used to cook with my great-grandmother. I used to whisk the caramel-colored dough, in that little shiny bowl, and put it onto the little silver stove in my dear great-grandmother’s kitchenette. My great-great-grandmother was an old lady of 76. She had a wrinkled face, and cold hands, but her smile had an energy that radiated through the room. I used to cook with my grandmother. I would make everything under the sun, but making crepes was our favorite. Sometimes, I would whisk the crepe mix too hard, and little flecks would fly all over. My great-grandmother would laugh, and I would laugh, and we would keep laughing. Other times, when I was tired, I would take the bowl and stir in my grandmother’s lap, her hands resting on my knees, with the cooking timer ticking away. “Tick, tick, tick, tick”, it went. We would put the mix onto the pan, and waited for it to make a crepe. I watched the mix turn into a food with astonishment, as it bubbled on top. We would scrape it out. Then I would put in cheese, my great-grandmother’s old, wrinkled, and cold hands were on top of mine, helping and caressing mine. Sometimes, we would put in honey. I would put in my finger right into the bottle of honey, and suck on it, savoring the sweetness. Her hand guiding mine, I poured put in small teaspoons of yellowish honey, which slowly slid off the spoon. If I ever spilled some, my great-grandmother would just smile at me, and wipe it up. By the end of our little ritual, we always smelled like sweet honey, and no matter where you went in the house, the smell lingered with us. After we washed and scrubbed our hands, the smell had left us. We sat down, and put the crepes into a beautiful plate of china. We bit in, and savored the sweetness of the honey, the cheesy cheese, and the delicious crepe outside. When we are done, and I felt drowsy. I curl up on my grandmother’s lap, and fall asleep. My grandmother smiled over me, with the cooking timer ticking away. “Tick, tick, tick, tick”, it said. The taste of our crepes is long gone from my mouth, but I am still savoring the memories.

Author's Note

I am only 10, so please excuse grammatical errors.

Reviews

[Rell E. Tyrots]

First of all, WOW. It is hard to believe that a ten-years old wrote this piece. The grammatical errors are really minor, and your writing style is flowing and intriguing. The tone is so frank that the story really finds its way into one's heart.
But, I must say, the thing I liked the most about this story is its ending: "The taste of our crepes is long gone from my mouth, but I am still savoring the memories. " It shows so much literary understanding of storytelling. It is clever, smart, touching and emotionally conclusive. It is simply amazing.

What you have written is a very good piece, and if we take into consideration that you are ten... it is astonishingly incredible. You are very talented.