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Essay on Creative Writing: Aurora

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“No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness” – Aristotle

Part 1
“Aurora!” I almost dropped my glass of water “Aurora!” someone was yelling my full name—I frowned at that; everyone knows me as Rory, no one called me by my full name apart from my sister. “Aurora! Please!” desperate knocks on my door followed the urgent call of my name again. Setting my glass in the sink, I walked to the door “Aurora, hurry up! Please!” my eyes widened as I recognized whose voice was desperately yelling at me and I ran to unlock the door and open it. Standing on the other side was Nivea.
I grabbed my chest as my heart skipped a beat while I fully took her image in. She was a total wreck. Her eyes that before were the color of the ocean were now red and blood shot. Her face was sunken in and a large bruise was forming along her jaw. Her skin looked dry and her hair was hanging out of the ponytail that was at the base of her neck. Her outfit was a wreck too. She was wearing a light-blue short dress that was freshly stained with a dark liquid. Was that blood? My eyes drifted to her feet, she had no shoes on and her toes were turning a light shade of blue.
“What the hell, Nivea!” I yelled completely shocked, “What happened?! Are you okay?” Nivea didn’t say a word, instead she pushed me back inside the room again. Then, she turned around and slammed the door closed and locked it, her hands shaking.
“Nivea?” I asked worriedly, slowly walking towards her. “What happened?”
“He’s coming,” she whispered it so low I was afraid I heard her wrong.
“He? Nivea what’s going on? Who is coming?” I demanded. I was so confused in that moment with my sister hysterically pacing in front of me.
“He’s coming after me. I-I have to hide.” She mumbled, her e...


... middle of paper ...


... strange man knocking on my door with a voice like silk and then he suddenly appeared on my sixth floor balcony a minute later’ they would lock me in an asylum. After double checking the lock on the door and the locks on the windows, I crawled into the bed with Nivea snuggling into the warmth of the blankets. I closed my eyes hoping to sleep but the image of the dark man on my balcony flashed behind my eyelids.
This was such a strange night. Something was really wrong. I got closer to Nivea and her familiar smell comforted me better than anything else could. Since the day we moved into different houses, I’d always missed the safety I felt with her close to me. I’m so great full I let her know how much I loved her that day.
Why?
Because the next morning, she was gone.

“…Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon…” – Emily Dickinson





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