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 Posted: Sun Aug 05, 2012 1:26 am
I took a Creative Writing class during the summer semester at my college. I just wanted to share them and get other people's opinions about them. Your comments are very much welcomes, be they pointing out places I need to improve or just saying something nice. I do ask that you not steal anything please as some I do plan on trying to add more to them and make a book or something like. ^_^ Enjoy The Last Stroke of Midnight ---Let me introduce to you a Mr. John E. Wallace, who was tonight’s unlucky victim. He was a rather portly man that also happened to be rather short, his hair had been trying to pull a vanishing act these last few years, and his bottle of brandy was still faithfully by his side at all times. He was a very well to do man that earned his small fortune from the misfortunes of the poor. His wife died rather mysteriously in her sleep leaving him with a daughter that he affectionately called Dear Abby. The only other thing that you need to know about him is that he had escaped me once before and that he must have surely known that I was going to come for him soon.
---He was asleep in his chair when I found him, though he quickly woke up as a cold draft blew out the candle. I leaned against a wall and watched as he clumsily lit the candle and looked about the room. His eyes passed over me like I wasn’t there, though he surely guessed that something wasn’t right in his little study. After much huffing and puffing he managed to climb out of the chair and started to look about the room. Finally, he stumbled upon a spider, blamed it for his uneasy , and then killed it. He blew the candle out and left the room as the grandfather clock began to chime the midnight hour. I walked beside him, though he seemed not to be aware of it. He climbed the stair while I stayed at the bottom to wait for his decent. As he reached half way up his heart, which was working too hard it seemed, gave a painful lurch. He grabbed at his chest, lost his balance, and took a tumble. It was then that he could see me, standing in my dark robes, and waiting for him. As the least stroke of midnight sounded through out the house I left with a heavier burden. ` ` ` ` Untitled ---The silence that settles around the house in those first moments was not the natural one of the world settling down for the night. No it was more along the lines of the silence that befell the forest as a predator stalked its prey. Nothing dared to move, to breath, to even think in case they draw attention to themselves. Lily did not notice the silence, though, as her attention was focused fully on the laptop in front of her. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into an hour, as the silence stretched on. Lily only became aware of the silence when the scratching noise interrupted it. It was a faint noise at first and Lily dismissed it as being the cat being a cat. After a while it stopped and Lily smiled to herself as her rather fat cat walked its way into her room.
---The scratching came again ten minutes later, this time closer, and from the direction of the bathroom. The cat, who had settled itself down on a stack of papers resting on the desk, lifted its head and growled at the door. An uneasyness entered Lily then and she quickly stood up. The scratching had grown louder, and closer, and was now accompanied by a growl. The floor just outside the bathroom groaned in the way it only did when someone was walking in or out of it. Lily called out her grandmother’s name, knowing she had fallen asleep in the living room hours before. Maybe she had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Maybe the television was the culprit of the scratching and growling. No reply came to Lily though the unexplained sounds did stop, but the following silence only unnerved the teenager more. She grabbed a bat leaning against the wall and slowly, carefully made her way to the bedroom door. Maybe a wild animal had stumbled in.
---he cat jumped from it’s perch on the desk and ran past the girl, skidding to a stop halfway down the hall, and retreating back into the room where it hid under the bed. Lily looked at the cat, the first traces of fear showing, and then continued out the door. Her cat wasn’t known for its bravery; it probably got scared by its own shadow. She stopped where the cat had and listened. She didn’t hear the scratching or growling of an animal, but the whimpering of a child trying not to cry. She followed the noise to the bathroom, wondering why a child was in her house, while getting a better grip on the bat. The floor groaned under feet, the door creaked slowly open, and the light flickered on. It was a dim but harsh light that made shadows lighter. The whimpering was coming from the closet, most assuredly a child, though something about the sound made Lily want to hide. Bat in hand she slowly opened the door, her green eyes peering into the darkness beyond, a decent lungful of air becoming hard to find. Her eyes widened as they became accustomed to the dark, the bat slipped out of her hand, and a scream formed on her lips. But before the girl could even make a sound a hideously deformed hand shot out of the closet and dragged Lily into the darkness. The closet door shut itself to the sounds of dark insidious laughter and a struggle.
---An hour later the grandmother got up o use the bathroom. She walked into the room, a frown on her face as she noticed the light on and a bat lying on the floor. She stomped out of the room and into the bedroom down the hall, where yet another light was on, but Lily was nowhere to be seen. A search of the house was done, and a few days later a search of the whole town, but no one ever could find her. In fact after that night no one would ever lay eyes upon Lily again. ~more to come in the post right after this~
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Posted: Sun Aug 05, 2012 1:33 am
Hate __I walked into the house, a feeling or dread working its way throughout my body, even as a small pinpoint of hope tried to shine through. The hope was puffed out as I saw him sitting in the chair. Black eyes dark and cold, one hand on the belt and the other on a piece of paper, and his face an emotionless mask. How many times had I seen that look in my ten years of life? Enough to know that I was in deep trouble, more so than I had ever been in before, and more than I would ever want to be in again.
__“Give it.” He said simply, the hand with the paper opening to accept some form of offering. Maybe something that could out weigh the bad in the letter he was holding. Sadly I had nothing good to offer.
___ched in my back pack and pulled out the report card and handed it over with a shaking hand. The shaking hand, and the tears that started to form, was all he really need to see to know that I had nothing good to offer. Still, he made a show of opening the report card and commenting on it after he was done reading it.
___“You can make an A in History and a B in English, but an F in everything else!” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if he would find the answer to his following question there, “Why does God feel that he must test me with a retarded daughter? Andrew makes A’s in everything, and Chris is a perfect A B student, despite the many sports he plays. But you are just a sad disappointment to this family. And to top it all off I just found out you got kicked out of that speech class for fighting. And it was from fighting your own brother at that!”
___He stood and my eyes locked onto the belt again. He grabbed my arm and I was dragged to the bedroom. Many painful minutes later he left and I was curled up on the bed in a tearful mess. It wasn’t the beating that I took that made me cry, though it had hurt, but the words said during it. They were the same every time, never changing, and always painful. He said them so much that they had to be true, not even I was left with a doubt that they were true. I was a retard. I was a failure. I would never amount to anything. The tirade would go on and on with a similar theme and end with the same few sentences. My love of writing would only get me a spot on the streets. I would grow up to be a whore. I was better off dead.
___en years have passed since then and many things have change. I have been free of that evil place and that evil man for seven years and have found him to be wrong about several things. I am not a retard. I am not, and never will be, a whore. I am not better off dead. And though then years have passed I still find some things haven’t changed. I am still a failure. My love of writing will still probably get me nowhere nowhere. The main thing that hasn’t changed is that I still can’t bring myself to forgive. Though lessened by the years the hate is still there, refusing to loosen it’s hold, and urging me to find someway to prove him wrong.
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Posted: Sun Aug 05, 2012 1:36 am
Streets of Cronos Trent struggled up over a pile of rubble and looked at the small city he had stumbled into an hour ago. So far, from what he could see, it was just like any other city on Cronos. Buildings lay toppled over or crumbling, giant craters showed where bombs had landed, and every once in a while you could see a person sneaking in the shadows. Dead bodies could also be seen, probably victims of the plague that the Earthlings had dropped on them, but Trent tried not to look at them.
“Hey, Kid.” Trent looked down at the teenager who was calling to him.
The teen had to be about sixteen, dirty hair and skin, clothes that were a size too big, scars that suggested he would fight to get what he wanted, but he had a kind face. That was something rare that Trent hadn’t seen since his father died a month ago. The twelve year old climbed off the rubble pile and picked his way around debris, and dead bodies, as he made his way to the teen. Trent stared at the ground as he felt the older boy study him for a minute.
You’re a skinny one and I bet if you lost those glasses you wouldn’t be able to see a thing.” The teen commented. Trent was used to this; it had happened before in other cities. A group of street kids would study him, see if he was useful in some way, and if not they sent him packing. He knew he should count himself lucky since in some places they would just kill a stray kid like him on site. The teen reached inside a messenger bag he was carrying and pulled out a half loaf of home made bread. He split it in half and handed part of it to Trent.
“I’m Dillon. That’s the first thing you’re going to have to know if we’re going to be working together.”
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Posted: Sun Aug 05, 2012 1:41 am
The Bench, the Game, and For Old Times Sake The mid-afternoon sun somehow managed to let one beam of light slip past the gathering storm clouds and grace a lone bench with its heavenly light. It didn’t really do much for the bench besides make it all clear that it had been neglected for many years. The iron was rusting, the wood rotten, weeds sprouting up around it, and the willow tree that was supposed to offer shade had completely died. Still, it was this bench that two figures from opposite directions walk towards, neither really seeing the other. One was just six feet tall, had a rather small frame, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and fair skin that seemed at risk of burning even in the dim sunlight of the day. The other was a slightly older man of six feet and three inches, of a medium build, hair blacker than the night, grayish blue eyes, and the darkly tanned skin of a person who spent a lot of time in bright sunlight. The two saw each other, nodded a hello, and sat on the bench together. They watched as the soccer game in the nearby field broke up as the rain began to fall. The dark haired man turned to the other and gave a small smile.
“For old times sake?”he asked.
The other man nodded, “But this time you’re the one leaving with a bloody nose.” ((Okay that was the last one))
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Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2012 8:19 am
last year, my English teacher asked me to write an original mythology story.
I wrote one about a boy who has a Chinese mom and the Japanese moon god Tsukiyomi as his dad.
it was fun.
my mistake was not making new paragraphs when the speaker changed.
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Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2012 9:49 am
Wish my English teacher asked for that! I was kinda mad at my Creative Writing teacher. My second story he said was good but that he didn't believe I wrote it because it had very little mistakes and was just to good for a first time creative writing student. I wanted to hit him with a bat -_-
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