Creative Writing: Stealing

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Stealing

The mottled white brick I stare at bears no resemblance to the view I had prior to this audacious imposition. If only I had resisted the temptation and not have allowed myself to be coaxed in by the thin, twiggy arm that beckoned me towards its icy embrace.

How could I allow this?

Just as my eyelids grow heavy, my consciousness forces me to remain alert and continue to stare out into the dim chamber of animosity. Confinement can be utterly beautiful; a prison cell, on the contrary, was the ugliest expression of minimal. Even the reality of the matter overcame me hours ago. Currently, I’m contemplating whether or not my actions were worth a criminal record… or if assaulting a snowman is worth police time? It was barely vandalism, …show more content…

It didn’t even have a seat and the fractured porcelain was mustard in colour to hinting at its age. My only distraction is the crippling sensation that clenches my stomach whenever I hear the biting hiss of the Velcro mattress clawing my tatty shirt. Curiously, my fingertips graze over the material, feeling each tiny fibre abrade my fingerprint away. As I throw my head back against the wall behind me, I feel the white paint crackle beneath my touch. It clutches onto the wall as desperately as it can before my index finger cruelly tears it away. The white flakes collapsing onto the mattress; the flakes do not melt, however. Much like the frosty imposter than beckoned me that …show more content…

The tape rolled and I found my feet wedged back into the blanket of snow, brows furrowed and taut – staring.

My toes were numb and my red fingers quivered as the snowflakes caked my lashes. It blurred my vision, not that it made a difference: the white flecks had obscured the sight of anything ahead of me and each deposit of snow pricked my rosy cheeks like an iced pin. The snowmen stood in a regimented line, stick arms saluting Mother Nature. One particular snowman figure stubbornly refused to melt like its watery brethren. I grimaced ever so slightly. It was like the piercing black orbs clocked my stance as if to mock me, its crooked ochre nose upturned in disgust at me.

In spite of the bludgeoning snowfall, my feet pounded the ground angrily, feeling every little flake’s bones crunch as the studs of my boots stabbed into them. In that moment, I promised myself that the fire of my fury would melt this icy villain.

Its provoking stance and sullen expression had me facing him in moments and I simply watched the dark pebbles stitched into his face steal the spark of the sunlight. I stared on and all I received was the same insulting

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