Dad’s Car by Kuli Kohli


Our guest writer Louise Palfreyman has been scouring the Black Country for your true life tales... and we've had some brilliant entries. Here's our second one this week.
There's still time to submit your stories, and to give you a glimpse of what we're looking for we'd like to share Kuli Kohli's story 'Dad's Car'.
If you have a strong memory you think would make a nice piece for us, the entry details are at the end of Kuli's story...

Dad's Car
by Kuli Kohli

Deepi at Park Street South. Kuli Kohli

I am in my back garden where there are no flowers or shrubs. No trees or bushes, only sunny dandelions, nettles and grassy weeds growing through the cracks in the concrete.

In one corner, bits of timber and wavy steel sheets have been shaped into a tatty, tacky shed.  I am surrounded by honeycombed barbed wire and can see threads of my favourite brown frock caught where I tore it on the hems.

My Dad’s car, old and rusty, rests like a dead whale smashed to pieces on the shore. The door is ajar and I catch my finger on the rust as I try to climb inside. The blood from my finger stains the battered seat but I am too excited to notice it. I sit on the driver's seat, my feet dangling. I grab hold of the steering wheel and start twisting and turning it. I can't see where I am heading, I only see the dirty dashboard and switches with funny signs.

I smile and sing, pretending to drive, imitating my Dad. I don't know where I am going but my imagination takes me to amazing places...

Reality brakes, holts me to a standstill, when Mum calls, "Come out this instant! You'll hurt yourself!"


To submit your work to Real Life Stories, go to
We have a public reading of submitted work at Wolverhampton Literature Festival on Saturday 2 February, and you are invited to take part! Send us your work to be in with a chance. Louise will also be leading a workshop in life writing.

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