Running with scissors

Recently I read a book written by an american writer, Augusten Burroughs, and the tittle was quite amusing, Running with scissors. The scene that projected that tittle was also enjoyable, it was me, around five or six years old, and my sister running after. I remembered just that time when I got grounded because I hide and run with my sisters bunny-figure scissors. Those were her favorite thing in the world and I took them away of her forever, right after I ended up my punishment. She didn't notice the night I sneak in her bedroom, open her drawers and found the bunny scissors. I cutted one piece out of her curtains and left.

She never knew where her scissors were, and my parents thought she was sort of sonambulist because of the missing patch on her curtains. Although within the years I had felt a little bit of remorse of what I did, I'd never told anyone about the real situation, until now. Back in those days we used to lived in a building facility, nowadays we live in a house. The building had this sand-box and I dug enough to make a big hole, where I settled the scissors. During a whole lot of years I forgot about the scissors, however the book brought me back that memoir. I was on vacations visiting my hometown city when I read it, so I decided to visit the sand-box, but instead I found a new wooden fun-park. Probably the bunny scissors were a few centimeters underground or were dug out by one of the workers that constructed the fun-park.

The thing is that she hasn't recall the situation since she was nine. It seems my sister doesn't reminds the good old days of her bunny scissors, and I expect to tell her the truth one day, probably she'll start running after me, like she did everytime I took her scissors.