Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
Tara and I sat in the coffee shop, "How's everything going? Still no leads or anything?"
"Nope, how ridiculous is that? Drew is about to pull his hair out and Rhett is so on edge it's driving me crazy."
"They just care about you, let them do it...okay?"
"I know. I keep hoping everyday that the detective will call and tell me they arrested whoever did this."
Then my cell phone rang, Drew's number flashed on the screen, "Hey sexy, I miss you!" I answered.
"Stormy, this is Asher," my heart and stomach sank, "Drew was in a wreck on the way to practice. He's in having a CT scan done then they'll do more x–rays."
"Oh my god! What happened?" I asked.
"Some douchebag ran a red light and t–boned him in the driver side. Luckily the side airbags...show more content...
I dipped the two sticks in the cup, laid them on the boxes and washed my hands.
"Here!" Tara waved some clothes around the door.
I slipped the leggings and sweat shirt of Rhett's on, his scent still strong on it so I inhaled deeply.
"You can come in...both of you." I told them and opened the door. They both walked in, "Three minutes from now," Rhett started the timer on his phone, "I'll prove to you that this," I waved my hand across the other unused tests, "is very uncalled for."
Rhett wrapped his arms around me from behind and rest his chin on my shoulder, "I got everything packed, after these are done we'll leave. Tara's going to drive us."
The three of us stood there and stared at the pregnancy tests, Rhett's timer went off, I grabbed the first test, looked at the display. "Oh–my–GOD!" I grabbed the other one, "WHAT?!" I shrieked.
Tara grabbed one out of my hand and Rhett grabbed the other, "Wawhoo! I fucking told you!" Rhett yelled.
"YAY! Holy crap!" Tara jumped up and down, "I'm going to be an aunt!"
"Those can't be right." I argued.
Rhett spun me around, "I can promise you, they are."
"Yep!" Tara exclaimed.
Tears filled my eyes,
Creative Writing: Personal Narrative
Creative writing It was warm, as the sun peered through the blinds. The prolonged rain had finally ended and It was like any other Monday for him; the start of another week of work for him. He dragged his feet to the bathroom and looked in the mirror to see drooping eyelids with gloomy, dark circles filled with lethargy, showing a lack of sleep. His face was two different tones of colour, most likely from over–working on his truck and the excessive sunlight that polluted his face.
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
"I remember the pain. The pain he had left behind." the first thought that has come to my mind.
As the bell chimed as the fog crept through the cobblestone streets. I wake up on the damp street with my back drenched in what I felt like was sweat.
It was pitch black. No light coming from any direction. No sound could be heard besides the earsplitting racket of the bell. I attempt to stand, but my muscles are so sore I stumble to the ground. I try again and push through the excruciating pain. I succeed, but as I stand it sounds as if the wind is calling my name. As if it was a light whisper.
"Jessssica," the wind began to hiss at me, "Jessica!" the hiss turned into a shout.
I stumble back yet again as if the yell was so powerful it knocked me over. I sit on the ground for a moment. Just a...show more content...
I began to head towards the bell, but I heard another yell.
"Help!" the man shrieked. I turned and began jolting towards the yell, but everything went silent. I kept running.
I collapse on the ground. I began to cry. The wind began to whisper again.
"Jessica," it whispered.
"What do you want?" I interrupted with tears rushing down my face.
"It will be okay." It responded. I realized who's voice it was at that point.
"Dad?" I asked.
"Just follow my voice. It will be okay." I jump to my feet. I began to hobble through the night.
I came upon a street light. The street sign next to it read Davis Street. I was thinking in my head because it sounded as familiar as the voice did. I followed the street and came upon a house. I heard yelling and screaming coming from inside. I ran in and found a black figure standing across from my father but his face was beaten. I ran outside because I didn't want to see what would happen.
I ran outside and there was a car crash. The same car that had hit my father years ago. The man in the car drove off into the night before I could read the tags on it.
I ran up to my father on the ground. I broke into
Personal Narrative: A Career In Creative Writing
Imagine: a chubby six year old with dark brown hair and green eyes sits at a table writing in a notebook, her dark brows furrowed in concentration. A second grader with long, honey blonde locks walks up to the little girl and asks her what's wrong. The six year old tells the girl she's trying to write about "the real world" but is having trouble. "Well, why don't you try creative writing?," the blonde advised. The first grader rolled her eyes. This was not the first time she had gone over this with this particular girl, "It's boring and I don't want to." the little girl stated, as if that was that. The second grader raised a honey eyebrow and asked "Have you ever tried?" "No," the replied the little girl stubbornly "It's boring." "How...show more content...
After some searching, I ended up in school called Continuous Curriculum School (CCS for short), with an awesome teacher named Mr.Brenamen. Third grade was a major struggle. I didn't meet hardly any of the standards my grade level required, especially in the beginning. However, by spring, thanks to my teacher, my parents, and a massive amount of work and practice, I had figured out how to manage such things as math and homework. It helped that through the whole year we still did creative free writes, since it was one of the few periods I actually enjoyed. Fourth grade was...different. While I didn't struggle as much in my classes which, at that point I still didn't care for too particularly much, my favorite subjects became the one I deaded. That was the year we partnered up with the other class and started forming stories around folktale plots. For example, taking "The Boy who Cried Wolf" and turning it into "The Worm who cried Bird". I despised every second of it. The thing I loved most about writing was that I could create a world,an adventure out of my own imagination, instead I was confined to regurgitating someone else's ideas. My love quickly turned to hate and I stopped trying to write the
Creative Narrative : Creative Writing
Creative Writing I walked through the frosty pine forest, my breath coming out in wispy clouds. The pine needles and snow crunched beneath my blue Timberland snow boots, every step wary. My friends, Molly and Sharla, trudged alongside me, their unkempt hair billowing from under their wool beanies, icy hands shoved into the pockets of their fashionable snow jackets, as they called them. "W–why is it so cold here?" Sharla chattered, "I can't wait 'till w–we can be next to the nice cozy fire, eat–ting m–marshmallows, and s'mores.." "Well, well, well! Look who's complaining now!" I guised, glad of a reason to tell them off for their fashion choices, "I did tell you we were going skiing and you jus––!" "Oh my gosh! Do I hear –– voices? Are we there?" She interrupted, her grimace of cold spontaneously vanishing. "Yes, from what I remember we should be there about now," said Molly in her reasonable voice. She was always so practical, never wrong about anything because she always checked her facts. We extolled her for this, respected her as a friend with secrets that no one could know until she bestowed the knowledge upon them. I watched her carefully, noticing her usual adroit expression gone, being replaced by an uneasy face. "There! That's our site, Aaron!! I know it is!" cried Sharla to me, pointing at a cleared circle of bare earth. A small fire ring of scorched stones was sitting in the interior of the camp site, patiently awaiting its next adversary of flames. Though there
Creative Writing: A Narrative Fiction
"Why did you not heal yourself?" he asked, knowing full well that one of the perks for being a witch of the west was that water could heal almost any of her ailments. He was displeased to see that her translucent skin magnified the dark circles under her eyes.
"Worried that I'll embarrass you and your brother looking like shit?"
"No, I'll be sure to keep my distance," he replied in a haughty voice.
"You're a water elemental; you could have easily healed yourself."
"I... She kept hitting and kicking." Sydney's eyes flicked over to Natasha. "I was hoping to elicit her sympathy."
"A foolish strategy that didn't work."
Sydney cringed. "Oh, really? You think?" His eyes narrowed. It seemed he didn't appreciate the sarcasm. "Will you be there for...show more content...
Though those were my words, I did mean to imply you are beneath my station. The truth is that I have no rank or standing, as I am the monster parents tell their children about at night." He reached for her wrist. "Stay." It was a request this time, not a command.
Sydney noticed Steve watching them with concern, his focus on Loki's hand.
Surely there was a limit on how many second chances one could give another. Though, she could play nice... for Jane's sake. Sydney nearly laughed out loud at her own attempt to hoodwink herself. The truth was that the fraction of the time that she enjoyed Loki's company more than made up for the majority of the time that she wanted to throw things at him. "Okay," she decided. Loki dropped her wrist, but Steve was still watching them. "I'm going to refresh my drink first." She grabbed the still hot glass by the rim at the top. "I'll be right back."
The subdued god of lies watched her leave then turned his attention to the overly protective soldier. The mortal gave him a look of warning before turning away. It mattered little what the do–gooder thought, for the only opinion that mattered was Sydney's. Mucilaginous, Loki chuckled to himself. He had underestimated the seductive power of decent vocabulary... though it wasn't her lexicon that turned him
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
My whole body shakes with the effort to contain my sobs, the hand holding my phone stings with the force of my grip. Determined figures type at it's screen, their progress slowed by the tremors running havoc and my terrified body. The irritation is present, but fleeting, chased out by the desperation currently clawing it's way up my chest.
The phone rings for what feels like an eternity before a muffled 'hello' is muttered, and I mean to answer but no sound leaves my lips.
"Kate?" His smooth voice answers once more.
"Hey." My vocal chords seem to be receptive again. My voice, however, sounds strained.
That's not what I wanted to say but nothing else seems to make it past the locked iron gates of my throat.
"Hey. What's up?" His voice tone...show more content...
"Whats on your mind?" He asked once the plane was under my control.
Shrugging my shoulders I responded, knowing this would not be the last time it was to be addressed. "Nothing important." An exaggerated huff of air bounced off of the walls before a pleasant stillness engulfed the compartment, a starch contrast to my thoughts.
❖❂ ❂❖
"I'm glad I finally got to see you make use of that pilot license." Nate teases once we are all off of the plane. I roll my eyes and continue towards my luggage and guest.
"Mr. Baxter." I greet. "Did you enjoy the flight?" His cheeks tint with a light layer of red his mesmerizing eyes widening a bit. He cleared his throat before answering. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable, the seats specially were very accommodating." He responded politely which caused my lips to twitch upwards slightly before schooling my features once more.
The warm San Fransisco breeze assaulted my senses and I take a moment to truly calm myself; the fresh air relaxing my stiff limbs. Taking a deep breath I allow a content sigh to escape past my lips, and roll my shoulders back releasing some of the tensions there. Oh how I missed
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
"I'll try, but it won't be easy." It had taken Denise over two hours to complete her investigation. After both Fiona and Denise left, she felt nervous being in the house alone, especially after hearing what Denise had to say. She walked through each room taking the same path they had walked earlier silently wishing Ray was already home.
He said he would be back as soon as the trial was over. Who knew when that would be?
She did have Swayze, her brave dog who runs at the sight of shadows and barks into dark corners.
Of course, she could try contacting the spirit herself and ask it to leave? It could work.
Feeling brave, she headed up to the landing with Swayze right behind her. Taking one cautious step at a time, she climbed the stairs, not sure how to converse with a spirit.
I wish Denise had stayed to...show more content...
The white mist of her own breath hung suspended in the air as the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
Casey thought she heard a low guttural growl or a malicious laugh, she couldn't tell which. It came from the area where the shadow stopped.
She made one more attempt at conversation. "I don't know who you are, but you need to leave." Remembering her manners, she added, "Please. You might have died here, but you don't belong here any longer. It's time for you to move on. Do you see a bright light anywhere? If you do, you need to walk into the light. Your loved ones will be waiting for you there."
Realizing how ridiculous she sounded, even to herself, "Really, walk into the light? What are you thinking? You've been watching way too much television. Everyone knows if a ghost is evil, there won't be any bright light. There will only be darkness. She's seen enough horror movies to know that."
She decided tonight was not the night to do this especially by herself. She didn't have a clue what to do. That was Denise's
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
"No."
She narrowed her eyes at me as if she didn't believe my answer. "Remember what I told you the other day, people like him will take advantage of you in the blink of an eye. Watch your back at all times."
"I don't believe he's the type of person who's take advantage of someone."
"And what makes you believe that?" "I don't get a wicked vibe from him," I intimated in a calm tone, staring at his resting body move slowly up and down with each passing breath. "He doesn't come off as the kind of person who would harm me."
She wrapped her arm around me and sighed. "Listen Ariana, you got a lot to learn. Some people in this world aren't as nice as you make them out to be. This lazy bum is an example of one of those people. Just because he...show more content...
Especially if it isn't goodly intended. As long as you're happy with yourself that should be enough to keep your life moving forward."
Easier said than done. Maybe you never felt the devastation of being hated before, but I have enough experience to share amongst you and a few other people. But I shouldn't bother telling you my problems. "Are you sure you don't like Tia?" I beseeched. "Don't you find her the least bit of attractive?"
"I don't know what your friend got you up to...."
"She's not making me do anything. I just believe you two would be happy together."
"You might as well stop. I don't see her as nothing more than some idiot who happens to be in the same class as me." "You're being as stubborn as she is," I whispered to
Creative Writing: A Narrative Fiction
"Are you kidding me!?" yells my friend Nate. "Thrown out like you're nothing?"
"I'm fine, it's okay." I answer. It's not. I'm not okay. I've been "released", as General Tre would call it, on medical terms. No more army, no more fighting, no more justice. Normally I'd be happy, but under the circumstances given, it's completely different.
"Well?" Nate yells.
"What? I wasn't listening." I say.
"What are you going to do about it?" He asks.
"About what?" I ask, as Nate sighs.
"About getting kicked out the army!" He exclaims.
"Oh, Right. I don't know, what should I do?"
"I'll tell ya." He laughs. "All you need to do is–"
"ALL SOLDIERS TO THE TRAINING GROUND!" Booms a voice from behind us, me almost using my crutches as weapons. Nate follows the voice as quickly as possible, leaving the conversation immediately....show more content...
"I'll talk to you later!" He answers. "The imperial's are on their way!"
I never saw him again. Dead. Killed in battle at the footsteps of the Confederate Outpost. Supervised by mister helmet hair himself. Tre did nothing to stop it. He could have, but didn't. And now, I'm here with him, at his burial a month later. I had just gotten of my crutches when I found out. Tre loomed over the grave stone like he was trying to intimidate it, acting like it was worth it. I was about to leave when he said something to me.
"Pity, he just didn't know how to save himself" he spat. I couldn't control myself.
"What!?" I shouted. "How on earth can you say that? You could have easily helped him, but you just stood and watched as he was ripped
Up until recently I did not know what I wanted to do with my degree. I was attending school and taking courses but I really had no idea which way to go upon graduation. Recently, after contemplating multiple career choices have decided that I want to become a licensed professional counselor and specialize in expressive/creative therapy working with children. Expressive therapies are those that introduce action to psychotherapy and that action within therapy and life is rarely limited to a specific mode of expression. Specifically, creative arts therapies share a commitment to the "expressive action that engages emotions in a direct and physical way; an ability to generate creative energy as a healing force for mind, body, and spirit; and a
Creative Narrative Writing : Creative Writing
Creative, Original Title
"I will keep smiling, be positive and never give up! I will give 100 percent each time I play. These are always my goals and my attitude." This is a quote by Yani Tseng, a female Taiwanese professional golfer playing on the U.S. LPGA Tour, and the youngest person ever to have won five majors. This quote connects with my life because two years ago I learned to stay positive, and never give up. My family and I were in Glacier National Park, Montana. We were driving through the park, on our way to Lake McDonald. Once we arrived, we were immediately entranced by the stunning beauty of the lake, and the surrounding forests. We stood there, stunned, admiring the crystal blue water of the lake, the luscious green trees, and the glaciers, sitting on the surrounding mountains. But we didn't just come here to admire the lake, we came to swim!
"Let's hop in!" my brother Asher exclaimed.
We all headed towards the lake, but Mom and Dad decided to stay back on the shore, rather than going in. Asher and I took off our flip–flops, and head to the lake. Asher was the first to dip his feet into the water but immediately pulled it out.
"God!" he yelled, "The water's freezing!"
I then dipped my foot into the crystal clear water. It felt like the water was biting at my feet with teeth of ice! That day, the water was around 45–50 degrees Fahrenheit, which is around 35–40 degrees colder than your average swimming pool.
"Jesus, you're right!" I exclaimed
My
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
crow."
"That's fine just get mine to go."
"Syd did you hear me?"
"Yes I need a drink."
"I guess you realized it was Steven?"
"What?"
"I told you months ago that Steven and Kelli had something going on."
"We're still not serious yet, so it doesn't matter."
"Kelli is about to marry your best friend and you look as if you've seen a ghost, so it matters."
"Why did you do this to me Toni?'
"Somebody had to save Mike but I didn't know Steven would be here."
"I don't care because he won't believe me."
"Well do to him what I did to you, because he needs to know."
"I can't do that to Mike."
"Why not!"
"Because he will hate me forever and we just started talking again. Mike will not be able to handle this."
"Yes he can."
"Then you do...show more content...
Did you know about Steven?"
"No I was just as shocked as Sydney, but if we need more proof I'll get it,"
"If you knew about this why didn't you tell Mike?"
"Mike is way too sensitive about that girl."
"This is just like college, you had Sydney tell him about that girl too."
"Look men don't have those sensitive moments like females so I can't tell him."
"But Luke, you play the role of a female dog in heat so well."
"Bye Toni." Luke stood to leave. "Call me later because I think I have an idea." Luke flirted with the hostess as he walked out. That Saturday Mike surprised Sydney with a picnic. When they were in college they would hang out in the park after finals all the time. Mike and Sydney we walking along the lake throwing bread to the ducks. "It's been a long time since we've done this."
"Yes it has." Sydney was look somber.
"What's wrong with you Sydney?"
"Nothing, I'm just thinking about the last time we were here."
"Yeah, that was crazy." Mike kissed her hand. Sydney snatched her hand back, "Mike what you are doing!"
"Sorry I just got caught up in the moment because I realized how awesome you are as a friend."
Sydney turned up her nose, "Really?"
"Why are you looking at me like
Creative Writing : Personal Narrative
"Click," went the door handle, as Tristan picked the lock on the door.
"And we're in," he exclaimed.
"Good job soldiers. One step closer to victory," said Director Schwartz over the earpieces given before they set off. With Tristan and Evan taking out the dictator, the Spanish Government could reclaim the rest of lost, deserted government buildings, and restore the country back to normal.
"Let's go, Evan. You have the map, right?" Tristan asked.
After Evan pulled out his phone they examined the digital map, the both of them studied it for a bit.
"So, we have just entered through here," Tristan pointed, "And we have to flank towards the eastern side, without being caught. Seems easy enough for a couple of fifteen–year–olds," as he...show more content...
"First," he exclaimed, "Locate and destroy the tool that is tracking you. Typically it may be a security camera or a microchip. Secondly, scout the area. What can you do if you are a chicken with it's head cut off," he said rhetorically. "Finally, there are two choices. Kill or hide. Killing the hunter can either ensure your safety or demise.
"First, we have to get to the server room so that we are able to destroy the equipment. After that, we should reevaluate our location and focus on completing the task," stated Tristan.
The both of them climbed down the fireplace and bolted towards the server room. As soon as they entered the electronics station, they immediately went toward the large, black desk on the side.
"Evan, you know what to do," Tristan said hopefully.
"On it," evan replied without even glancing away from the computer.
Evan began searching for all the files, for he wanted to find all the useful information. One thing caught evan's eye; a picture of a family. The family consisted of a single mom with two young boys surrounding her. Evan attained a slight pang of sadness for the reason of he never spent much time with his own mother.
"Hello? Snap out of it. Evan are you listening to me; I said we don't have much time before they catch on to us. Disable the security cameras so we can take out Blaire," commanded Tristan.
Evan again began to see the objective of coming here. He quickly found the files, disabled the
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
Flashes of memory rapidly traveled though Allie's mind; those captivating eyes and that beautiful, alluring smile; suddenly, she was transported back to that past December day, standing there on Meeting Street. Swiftly, Thomas was upon her; his lips on hers were hot with need as he took her mouth with his. Quick intakes of breath and grunts of disapproval reached Allie's ears from somewhere in the room. To kiss this way in public, was very inappropriate, but she did not care; she returned Thomas's kiss with a fervor that matched his.
When Thomas's lips released hers, she was limp in his arms. Eli cleared his throat, but they both ignored him.
"Darling, you look absolutely stunning in that gown– when I walked in, my eyes were immediately drawn...show more content...
"I hope that will be alright; we'll borrow a steed." Thinking of the gathered hem on her gown, Allie looked down. "I will manage the how's of it, you'll have to trust me," said Thomas putting his arm around her waist and walking to a railing where several horses were hitched. Untying one of the horses, Thomas mounted it and then leaned over and reached his arm down for her. Taking his offered arm, Allie smiled up at him. Easily, Thomas lifted her and set her in front of him, sidesaddle like, and then turned the beast toward Charleston proper and the harbor. Snuggled in his arms, the manly, sandalwood scent of him filled her nostrils; it was warm, spicy, and inviting... That, combined with the movement of the galloping horse was sensual– ubiquitous darkness surrounded them as they rode along River Road; it was shadowy and mysterious. Closing her eyes, Allie leaned back against Thomas's chest, and sighed. A little while longer and then they could lie together; she could not wait to kiss him again– to feel his flesh against her as they made
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
Louis sighs before hopping into the car and driving the opposite of where his house is. Deciding to push out the negative thoughts, Louis contemplates for a second before driving down Ybor city instead. There's a drag queen show today, the streets are full of laughter and drunk friends. Louis loves the vibe.
He spots a cool looking bar that looks like it's attached to a tattoo shop. What would better than getting drunk and getting a complete stranger's face tattooed on his ass? He elects to stay there the whole night, even if he hates it.
It's dark inside with strobe lighting and electro music. There are grinding bodies, a hundred hands slipping along inner thighs on the dance floor. It's tasteless and raunchy but he can feel the hum in his...show more content...
Don't let your precious masculinity break because something that isn't beer tastes better than anything you've had."
"Touché." Louis concedes, smiling for the first time tonight and taking a sip. Harry's right, it's delicious.
Harry smiles back somewhat childishly.
Before Louis knows it, he's drunk. So is Harry. Louis can feel the raw energy between them, somewhat amplified by the alcohol. They talk about stupid stuff neither of them can remember. over the loud music and then Harry is pulling Louis onto the dance floor. Louis is too drunk to care.
Somewhere along the way, Harry slides a hand down Louis' back, grabbing his ass and latching his mouth on the exposed part of Louis' neck. They're lost in the moment, that's all is what Louis thinks as he grinds back on Harry's crotch. He can feel Harry smile on his neck.
"Not so straight then huh Lou?"
"Shut up Curly" Louis snaps, reaching back to run his fingers through his hair.
Harry is shoving Louis down on one of the couches in the next minute, and it's a good ten minutes of intense making out. Louis' never experienced anyone who bit, licked and kissed as much as Harry.
He has a raging hard on now, and no sooner does he realize that, Harry is shoving his hands down Louis' pants, palming at his
Creative Writing: Backward-Personal Narrative
I lowered my head in shame. I knew there was something I could've done but, I was used. She was right. I'm nothing but a coward.
"Are you serious?" a voice boomed from behind us "Your calling him a coward?" Celestail stomped her way infront of Mother's chair and looked her right in the eyes.
"Peasent...! How dare you–"
"How dare I what? Stand up for your child when you should be the one comforting him? Don't give me that shit, lady. You know damn well as much as I do, that there was nothing he could've done. It's not even his fault! So, don't come barking that gibberish when you didn't even attempt to save your presious King, yourself!"
And with that, Celestial drew away and released an angered sigh, leaving Mother speachless. Hell, I was speachless myself! I couldn't believe she just–...show more content...
This air is starting to suffocate me."
I think I made the right choice of saving Celestial. She has all the potiental to end this war and finally kill him. Quickly, I scampered out the room along with Celestial marching on ahead to the garden with balled fists and eyes glazed over in the familar subcolor I'm used too.
"You didn't have to do that, y'know..." I mumbled, stratching the back of my head.
Celestial walked to the edge of the snowy garden and clenched her fists tighter. Suddenly, her hand went flying onto the tall tree bark, creating a dent and splintering the wood. Blood dripped constantly from her knuckles as she dropped to her knees with a wavering sigh to her voice. She cried loudly.
Before I could think about what I was doing, I rushed over and cradled her inside my arms. Celestial turned inwardly and cried heavily into my chest. I squeezed her closer to me, then picked her up bridal style like I did that first day I found her. She curled herself within me and wiped her eyes from the current flow of tears streaming down her
Creative Writing: Revealed-Personal Narrative
I surveyed the burning forest as it crackled, hungry for fuel to flare brighter. I sighed as my already distorted shadow warped further. Any other person would think it was just the fire, but I knew better as the dark figure solidified and rose off the ground, turning into a boy who looked about 3 years older than me. He had black hair that covered one red eye and always moved as if he had his own personal wind surrounding him. He wore shadowy jeans, shirts and hoodies. "Blake," I greeted him. "Hello Kai," he replied with a smirk. He scanned the area, a hand on his hip, before making the already small distance between us smaller. He cupped my face in one hand and I tried not to lean into his comforting touch
"You've done a nice job with this...show more content...
Because you love me? Or because you knew that I'm in love with you?" Blake tightened his grip on the back of my shirt. "Both I guess?" he said quietly. "Does that mean it's okay for me to do... this?" Oh god, am I really going to do this? Well, I guess it's too late to turn back now.
I kissed him, slow and sweet. He sighed happily against my mouth and I smiled. It felt warm and tingly.
The door suddenly burst open and we pulled apart. My mom stood in the doorway, gaping at us. "KAI! Why the HELL are you KISSING ANOTHER MAN in your BED?!" she screeched, marching over to us, and grabbed my arm, digging her long fingernails into my skin. I winced, trying to keep a neutral expression, but failed. "Mom, I–"
"I am NOT your mother ANY more! As far as I'M concerned, I don't HAVE a son!" She gripped me harder and I bit my lip, trying to hold back a cry of pain. Blood slowly trickled out of the gashed she made. "And YOU." The demonic woman turned to Blake. "What can you POSSIBLY see in this SLUT? You're obviously WEAKER than him–you're covered in BANDAGES, you little WIMP. You two DISGUST me," she sneered. I could tell that her words got to Blake, but he didn't show it. "Do whatever you want to me, just please don't touch Kai," he said in a stormy
Creative Writing: A Fictional Narrative
Izzi looked around her. Everywhere were colors. The trees with their dark bark and ever changing leaves. The blue of water flowing in a nearby river. The pinks, purples, and oranges of the flowers beneath her feet. She looked down at her feet. And she saw nothing. The wind was all she was. She didn't stand out in the world filled with beauty, all she did was blend in, drifting in the breeze. It made her want to cry. Izzi longed for color. She longed to belong in this world. She wanted it more than anything. She sat in the grass for hours and braided flowers into her colorless hair made of wind. They wouldn't stay in long but she didn't mind, as long as she could have the colors for a moment. Eventually the sun began to set and she headed home....show more content...
It's not like we can take the colors from the world surrounding us. Izzi touched the tree bark. Slowly, she walked away and followed the noise of a flowing river. There she found light colored sand along the shore. She picked it up and began rubbing it on her arms. She smiled to see the color there. Next she took the blue of the sky and made it her eyes and sunshine the color of her hair. Lastly, she picked a light pink flower and made the petals her lips. Izzi was colorful. She was more than just strange wind. She ran back to her mother, her golden hair flowing behind her. "Mother!" she called when she reached the wood as the sun was nearly gone. The sky was filled with blues, greens, and blacks. "Yes?" her mother said. "Do you see me?" Izzi asked. Her mother's turned to look at her. "Is that you, Izzi?" "Yes!" she shouted with joy. "I am colorful! I am beautiful!" "How?" the mother was shocked. "I used the things around me," she happily admitted. "And now I shall make you colorful too."
Izzi didn't give her mother time to think. She grabbed the white of the moon and made it her mother's skin. Next she took the red of a rose and made it her lips. She took the black of the night sky and made it her mother's hair and the deep blue of the sky that ringed near the edge of the earth as the sun set. Izzi smiled as her mother looked at her chosen colors. "Maybe you were right all along Izzi,:" she said. "What we needed was just a little bit of color." "I have to go
Creative Writing: A Narrative Fiction
"No," Dean spits again. Unconsciously he grips his right forearm, scraping his thumbnail over the flesh. "Fuck, no. We been over this, Cas. Gonna find another way."
"You told me to do whatever it took," Cas reminds him gently, and he nearly screams.
They're sitting on the hood of the Impala, ignoring the warm Kansas drizzle soaking into their clothes. Not quite ignoring the drops of water sliding down jawlines, underneath collars.
"Whatever it took to take me out," Dean snarls. "Dunno if you still got smitin' power left in you but you still got that knife. Not gonna let you die for me again."
"That sacrifice does not belong only to you," Cas says softly. "And my blade, I fear, would not kill you, only turn you into what you were before....show more content...
He stumbles back, vision blurring with the pain, and falls to his knees, left hand wrapped around the Mark and right hand clutching his bicep. It's pain like he hasn't felt since the Pit, like hot pokers searing into his skin, and he screams endlessly at the empty sky.
Eventually, after what could have been minutes or hours or another forty years, the pain begins to subside, and he collapses to the wet earth, too numbed by exhaustion to think or feel.
Something stirs above him, and his consciousness crawls slowly back to him, like a dog. The smell of soil and rain fills his nostrils, still tinged by the scent of charred flesh. He sits up slowly, not opening his eyes until he hears the sound of a wet thump, and sees Cas' body fall to the ground.
His ears ring and his vision goes staticky, and he's almost sunk back into blessed unconsciousness when he hears a small groan nearby, then a rattling cough.
Immediately he's on his feet, clutching the trunk of the Impala for support against the