The swimming pool was designed to reflect the surroundings and atmosphere of a sub-tropical climate, a glass dome enclosing the pool and its surroundings where foliage (real and artificial) draped from imitation cliff-sides and where the air was warm and damp with humidity. The enclosed space was filled with the noise of countless children yelling and splashing in the water above the gulping sounds of the pool's drainage system. My brother and sister took their inflatable rings into the water and soon discovered an area where the water was funneled to imitate river rapids. My mother carried me to where the water reached up to her lower stomach and began to dip my backside into the water, lifting me up immediately after and making noises which I responded to with laughter and a toothless grin. My father walked along the side of the giant pool, directing the camera between my mother and I and my siblings who were now floating where the water was deeper. A loud horn sounded and soon the water in the deeper part of the pool began to rise and fall and waves began to form. My brother and sister were swimming in the centre of the water, my sister the only one now with a float to assist her. Soon the waves began to thrash wildly and force all those in the water a few feet into the air before smashing them back down. People, mostly adults, cheers and anticipated each wave with rising shouts which became loudest when the water slammed into their chests. My brother, without a rubber ring, panicked wildly and reached out desperately for my sister, who could not prevent herself from laughing long enough to help her younger brother. The waves forced them towards one of the imitation cliff-sides at the far side of the pool, along which a thick rope had been attached to help anybody stranded on that side. My sister was forced against the cliff-side by the rising waves while my brother, flailing helplessly without his spectacles to help him, finally reached out and held onto my sister's thin inflatable ring, forcing it beneath the water and turning my sister's laughter to a panic as intense as his own. Soon they were both shrieking and desperately reaching for the rope at the side, but before their fingers could find it the waves began to calm and soon the small crowd who had gathered in the deeper water returned to their families in the shallows or plodded slowly back to their loungers around the pool's edge.
Book 1 / Part 2
Hrm.
It's not exactly Greene's "A Sort of Life," but it does hold a certain charm, I suppose.
Nor is it unreadable, but you are in need of an experienced and professional editor, OP.
I did not enjoy the feeling of the plastic drainage grilles against the soft underside of my feet, but my legs were too short to step over them. But soon my mother picked me up again and returned me to the bunch of loungers where my family had set up something of a camp, our towels and belongings hanging from the lounger's back support and gathered untidily underneath. My father continued to stand at a distance with the camera my mother and sister usually chose to operate. At one point he stands behind a thick vertical length of artificial foliage hanging down to the damp tiles and points the camera towards his family as though he were a stranger to them, covertly watching their movements and my mother's attempts to dress me in a t-shirt. He then turns the camera slowly away from the family and across the wide expanse of the pool, where a new batch of children were now screaming and splashing and being carried to and fro the water in the arms of their parents or older siblings. Exhausted from my labor, I lay supine in a poolside cot, my diaper unfastened so that my genitals, already bulging with promise, could be exposed to whatever cool air was available. Later, at night, we rode our bicycles again and through the shadows leaking down the trunks of the pine trees I saw a small store with a large red and white candy cane visible in the window. In the following days the swans which had been so placid floating like buoyant plastic toys on the manmade lake beyond the bungalow or stomping carelessly through the grass which separated each residence from each other gathered outside the patio doors of our holiday home and pecked viciously against the glass. My siblings retreated indoors after sacrificing the bread they had taken out to throw in pieces onto the lake, and my family stood without speaking as the geese hissed and clattered their beaks against the window pane.
Shut your slobbering whorehole of a mouth about Knausgård or I will fight you IRL
is this the pizza delivery guy who posted before?