Memory man.

My earliest memories are from around my 2nd birthday.
Don't be fooled, just because I was very young does not mean they are all happy, like a birthday party. I can't remember any of my birthdays until I turned 6.
Cartoon network had just finished on the television, so it was about eight at night. I realised that the house was dark. I'm claustrophobic, always have been, so I started to panic and call for my mom. No reply. Then I started to call for Dad. I heard a slight muffled sound from upstairs and the noise of someone quietly closing a door. I began to stumble around our two up two down trying to locate the noise and my father. I crawled up the stairs and burst into my Dad's room.
I found him on the bottom right corner of the bed, with his head in his hands, his huge glasses just peeking out of the top of his fingers. I don't think he even heard me come in.
"Daddy?" I whispered.
I knew he had heard me. His back tensed as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have done but he didn't move. I slowly and quietly walked over to him. I knew something was wrong but it didn't even occur to me to try and think of what it was.
I removed his fingers from his face and he looked at me. His face was wet. It then clicked. He had been crying.
"Oh daddy." I said. Seeing him sad made me sad. It seemed to have a similar effect on him as he scooped me up into his arms and we sat, crying together.

Blank.

I'm in the overgrown back garden on my bright red little swing, I can see Mom in the kitchen, every now and again she looks up from washing up and smiles and waves at me. It's warm and sunny, I can see the rays shining from gaps in the cloud overhead.
I look down at my swing.
I try to stand on it, like all the big kids do in the park, I shout to my Mom.
"Look, Mummy, I'm a big girl!"
My swing goes upside down, with me still attatched.
I cling on for dear life, terrified, my face inchest from the hard-baked dirt beneath me. I begin to cry and scream, my fingers hurt but I will them to gold on, refusing to let go.
Then huge hands scoop me up and the sunlight blinds me, I never saw a face.

Blank.

I'm in nursery, with my friends Thomas and Jessica. We were eating cherry tomatoes, only I didn't like them, so I pretended to eat them and spat them out under the table.
It's now playtime and we are behind the climbing frame.
No one but us went back there because they were all too scared of the spiders and creepy-crawlies. We weren't.
We would spend all playtime back there, making mud-pies. I was the loud one, Thomas was the destructive one, Jessica was increadibly intelligent for the age of 2, and showed us how to make daisy chains. i could never get the hang of it and Thomas was too clumsy. When it was hometime we would always pat the rock wall behind us three times before climbing through the climbing frame back to reality. I still don't know why we did that, but we never once thought to question it. We just did, and that was that. My first two best friends.