I love this place

I'm about four years old, there is a wooden clocodile in front of my house. Mother holds my hand while I climb it - I've finished, I feel so proud. But that's not really it, is it? Because wooden crocodile was in the countryside. Then bed. Full of peanuts in a shell. So tasty. I'm home alone. Curtain moves. I look outside the window. What if I would jump? But that's not it again - it's at my grandmothers. She has this black bag that she goes shopping with. It hangs in the kitchen on a tiled wall. Bag of toys hidden above hallway door. I'm so excited when they get it for me. Blue dinosaur that I bash my bedroom door with when my father locks me in - I'm a monster - I hit walls, furniture everything with it's hard tail. They just listen. Really calm. They are monsters. Two sisters open the door for me. They can't go out to play I think. Worlds highest stairs. I love this place so much. The soft door with pins in it - woman with blond curly hair opens it, looks down at me, she too doesn't come out.

Wooden logs, now I remember - it wasn't a crocodile. Trees full of leaves. Grey street. It's always grey there. My father sits on a bench. Khaki trenchcoat. Looking in the distance. He doesn't even know I'm here. My doll has only one leg, but my love is so big.

This new place. Kids are mean, surrounding is mean, every day is like a survival. I hide under the bed a lot, here I have enough supplies to survive the day without the need to go out. No, this is not my home.