The warm summer day was coming to a close. The moon would soon replace the fiery sun. The bright stars would illuminate the sky and the crickets would start chirping. I was a night owl. I hated waking up at the crack of dawn I instead would stay up into the wee hours of the night. Laying out on my balcony gazing up at the stars was my favorite thing to do. But tonight, I couldn’t stop replaying last nights events in my head. I was watching Jurassic World in the basement of my childhood home. The wallpaper was outdated with its floral print and the green carpet had one two many stains. But I didn’t care it was home and nothing was going to change that. Just as Chris Pratts character slid under the gate of the raptors cage a loud bang startled me. I jolted and flipped the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. I shook my head. Its an old house it was just the house settling. I …show more content…
My heart was beating erratically my whole body was trembling, silent tears ran down my face. His other hand grasped my legs. I couldn’t move I was paralyzed by fear. Come soon I thought. Please someone come help me. I tried to scream but to anvil. His grubby fingers were digging into my calves as he jostled me around. He was trying to through me over the railing. I kicked my feet attempting to break his hold it was no use I was falling. My life flashed before my eyes. I could faintly hear my mom screaming in the background, police sirens sounded from everywhere and before I knew I was hitting the ground. But instead of being hard like I had imagined it would be, it was soft almost like a pillow. I opened my eyes and saw the officers slap some sliver handcuffs onto the intruder’s hands. That brought instant relief he could no longer harm me. I took in my surroundings and realized I had landed on a mattress. Had that been there? My mom rushed over to me and gently pulled the duct tape off my
The window was cold to the touch. The glass shimmered as the specks of sunlight danced, and Blake stood, peering out. As God put his head to the window, at once, he felt light shining through his soul. Six years old. Age ceased to define him and time ceased to exist. Silence seeped into every crevice of the room, and slowly, as the awe of the vision engulfed him, he felt the gates slowly open. His thoughts grew fluid, unrestrained, and almost chaotic. An untouched imagination had been liberated, and soon, the world around him transformed into one of magnificence and wonder. His childish naivety cloaked the flaws and turbulence of London, and the imagination became, to Blake, the body of God. The darkness lingering in the corners of London slowly became light. Years passed by, slowly fading into wisps of the past, and the blanket of innocence deteriorated as reality blurred the clarity of childhood.
I heard a blood-curdling scream and I jumped. I felt silent tears running down my heavily scarred face, but they weren’t out of sadness. Mostly. They were a mixture of pain and fear. I ran into the eerie, blood-splattered room and screamed as I felt cold fingers grab my neck.
His screams are getting louder, I screamed with fear and desperately hoping that someone would save me. I screamed one more time hoping someone will come and help me.
“Men, for many of you, today is your first day training as a Knight of Camelot,” said Prince Arthur to the group standing before him. “And be grateful you’re not stuck in a torrential downpour as I was on my first day of training here on this very field. The sun is shining and I plan to work you hard.”
It was uncomfortable, but I still managed to fall asleep. The truck came to a sudden halt, I woke up at the sudden change in movement. I was confused, and heard loud footsteps coming towards me. The man looked at me, angrily. I was very scared. He shouted, “Get out of the truck!”. In my panic I jumped out, and tried to run away, but he violently grabbed me and shouted for money. I was so terrified, I tried to get the money out of my pocket, but I couldn’t because he was shaking me from side to side shouting. I figured that he thought I was refusing to give the money, but the truth was, I simply couldn’t get at
It is 6:25 in the morning. The outside is still pitch black; there is no hint of sunlight coming through the curtain. It will be hours before sunrise. I can barely see my fingers in front of my face.
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
How long had it been now? Days, weeks, months? There was simply no telling as it felt just like yesterday when I last stood here. The clouds above oozed and wafted the sun, casting a shadowy darkness onto the house in the distance.
One punch on the side lead him to have his head go father down than it was already, reveling a slit all around his neck and a pale chin. His head moved back and then forward again slowly falling down allowing his neck to become ten more inches and as his head fell down to the floor of the gas station his spine fell with it. There was blood on the spine dripping down that soaked his head with red, clarifying the whiteness of it. It thumped on the floor splashing the pool of blood that echoed off the walls, hitting me with his blood on my forehead. his head and body laid there separate. I remember my internal being wanting me to scream so, so hard. I couldn't. Also I remembered feeling speechlessness that was indescribable.. An emotion hitting me too hard to even let a word
I awake to my phone's alarm, alerting me that it is time to get ready for school. Winter break is officially over. I groan and roll over snatching the device from the charger while tapping dismiss. It's time to start my day.
Britney Cheng -- Chapter One Creative Writing Swiping to the left, nail art photos appear one by one like Victoria’s Secret models’ cat walking, on the runway of my iPad. What design should I put on the little platform on my fingertips next? I’ve been doing this over and over again for ten years non-stop, ideas were drying up like a drop of water in the desert. Brushing my fingers through my wall of nail polish, I tried to pick my next vivid shovel to bury my anxiety of what’s underneath my nail bed.
For my first piece of original writing I intend to create a piece primarily written for entertainment however, I also want to portray an interest into historical and political persuasions. I aim to write this piece for an audience of teenagers to young adult who are aged from around fifteen to twenty-five and are male, I also wish to identify with those interested in political thrillers within this age range. The genre of which shall be a short fiction story consisting chiefly of narrative and written in the third person. I picture this piece as being one of a collection of short stories concerned with the political-thriller fiction sub-genre. Despite being a fiction text I aim to tie in real world non-fiction.
My hand shaking at every thought, a cold shiver ran down my spine as cold sweat trickled down the side of my forehead. I lifted my hand up and a strong smell hit my nose, it was the smell of blood. I lifted the object and shock hit me like lightening, fear displaced my sadness, sickness changed my bloodstream from blood to a thick liquid pus and vomit. I held the muscle with my right hand as my left hand was paralysed with shock. The adrenaline shot me forcing me to move but shock shattered me into thin slices that were impossible to put back again.
I scarcely snoozed at all, the day before; incidentally, I felt insecure regarding the fact of what the unfamiliar tomorrow may bring and that was rather unnerving. After awakening from a practically restless slumber, I had a hefty breakfast expecting that by the conclusion of the day, all I wanted to do is go back home and sleep. Finally, after it was over, my dad gladly drove me to school; there, stood the place where I would spend my next four years of my life.
For the entirety of elementary school, the one part of my day that I would look forward to the most was the very end. As darkness fell and the day drew to a close, I would be rested on top of my purple and pink bedsheet with only the bedside lamp on. My father would lightly tap on the door to signal his arrival and slowly push it open. The hinges would inevitably send out a shriek of opposition, and my father would make a face. This is how I knew my nightly routine was about to start.