Longest avenue of lime trees in the world?

What do you think of my story opening?

• I emerged from the woods, mud dripping from my shoes and knees, subsequent to ten minutes crawling around on the forest floor. I stood up, attempted to clean myself off and turned around to see if my friends had followed. Harry, Amy and I would often take the long way home from school, a detour to explore the village, as we had done today. Oakmoor was an averaged sized area, situated in the very South of the country. The people of Oakmoor had a reputation for being pleasant and sociable, but made little impact to the wide world around them. Most had small jobs in the village, in the post office, newsagents or bakery, and went about their own days wanting no more out of life than what they already had. Everybody was content with the other people around them, myself included, and this ensured the village it’s friendly and comfortable reputation it holds to this very day. Most of the village was one of two areas. Half of Oakmoor was housing and shops, the centre of the district with schools and parks, general town necessities. The other half was forest and woodland areas, reflecting the village’s rural roots. These areas were my favourite. They were excellent for building and playing in so Harry and I would often head into the forest on weekends to climb the trees. Naturally he was better and faster than me at doing so, but he would always promise he would wait for me if I fell behind, a pledge he kept to. However, on this one occasion it seemed I had beaten him out of the forest. I gave a satisfied smile and sat cross legged on the gravel path, fiddling with the bottom of my school cardigan. The trees began to rustle as Harry appeared from the forest with Amy close in pursuit. Harry had blonde hair and was eight years old, one year older than myself. He was very athletic, part of the rugby team and the football team. Some said his father used to be an amazing footballer, but turned down the chance to join a premiership team. No one ever asked if this was true but whenever I found myself at Harry’s house, his father would be in his chair in the living room, a glass of whiskey in one hand and the remote in the other, so I had my doubts. Harry was one of the most popular children at school, giving me little chance to speak to him during school hours. He was my best friend, and he told me I was his, proving so by walking home with me every day after school. We also met up every weekend, usually with Amy too, and these were the times I really enjoyed, the times that were precious to me. School was one thing, learning and studying was for Monday to Friday, but the weekends were mine to do what I wished. These were the days that allowed me to strengthen the relationship I had between my friends, and without that time the week became tiresome and somehow incomplete. The three of us began to stroll down the gravel path that connected the forest and one of the housing estates of the village. I noticed that Harry in particular was covered in mud and matter from the forest floor. ‘Wont your mum be mad?’ I asked, fearing that he wouldn’t be allowed out tomorrow as a result of his filthy state. ‘Nope, she doesn’t mind if I get dirty. Mum says as long as I study and don’t get in trouble she’s happy. ‘My Mum would have me grounded for a week if I came in the house all grubby like that’ Amy chipped in. ‘Says I gotta keep myself presentable or the neighbours’ll say things.’ Amy lived in Orchard Avenue, named so for the orchards that used to line along the street a long time ago. It was the high class area of the village, full of ex-big shots who mother said ‘found themselves too important to live along side such folks as ourselves’. Despite this, the avenue was known for raising some of the best and brightest kids the village could be proud of. Amy’s mother liked to live up to these expectations the street had adopted, ensuring that Amy looked the best and was known as the cleverest little eight year old to walk the streets of Oakmoor. Despite this, Amy was often criticised for the way she spoke. Her mother often tried to help her improve her diction, but I thought her voice was unique and rather charming. I noticed that Amy was trying to brush what little dirt she had on her off so that her mother would be unsuspecting of our exploration through the forest. ‘My mum won’t mind’ I said with a definite hint of pride ‘I mean, she tries to tell me off, but I just act all sorry for myself, works every time’. We all giggled and continued walking. We split off one by one, firstly reaching Harry’s bungalow, and then the end of Orchard Avenue where I waved goodbye to Amy. About a five minute walk later I found myself skipping down my own road, swinging my lunch box in one hand. My road was a short one with houses of all shapes and sizes either side. Our house was a typical one, with two floors and a small red car parked outside. The house was painted white and all the hedges outside were perfectly trimmed straight. I al

• Answer:

  If thats just the opening, im afraid your short story is going to be more of a long story.