Albert Pike Creative Writing

“At dusk, we approached a bend where hand-painted signs advertising auto repairs and coal deliveries had been nailed to trees along the roadside. We rounded the bend and found ourselves in a

I stood near the steps to our porch and watched as the organized chaos unfolded. The younger boys wrestled on the path and little girls giggled with excitement. Dan Sims was near the spit, basting a boar while the ladies of the village carried platters of casseroles and desserts to the long tables. Trade day was always a celebration.

It was late. The moon had risen high and the starry sky brightening up the dark night. Various hex-tech lamps lit up the mostly clear streets of Piltover, and the buildings had their lights off. All, but one.

On we hiked towards the cloud cover, passing by crystal clear ponds and fields of snow, left over from the winter before. As we gained elevation the temperature dropped and a wind came up out of the south, forcing us to stop after a few minutes to put on our extra jackets. We did our best to stick to the center of the ridge from that point onwards. If it hadn’t been as wide, we would have had to turn back for fear of being blown off the edge. The worsening conditions made continuing difficult, but we did so nevertheless.

Although Summer was coming to a close, the smothering heat had yet to subside. As a result, Alfred Jones was spending his last few days of freedom, relaxing on top his cherry red Chevy truck, sipping cold bottles of soda and whistling old tunes. He kept going over a particular phrase mentioned to him again and again, that vacation always seemed to fly by, but these past weeks, every hour seemed to drag on until every day seemed meaningless. He brought the rim of the bottle to his mouth and surveyed Calamity look-out. Lush trees, cracked roads, obnoxiously coloured houses... Same old, same old. It drove Alfred insane, he was never able to stand the peacefulness of it all, everything in (think of town name later) was so... unimaginative. It

Of all the murders and crimes the police have been able to figure out they still haven't figured out one. All the killings are from one man, every single death, all in the Mayberry Forest, was by a knife. Mayberry being the town that owned that part of the forest back in the 1950’s.

A day in the life of hair is not easy. Like, getting wedged in braids, getting dyed, having lice crawling around you (which is itchy) or getting shaved into stubble. People can take good care of their hair and others, it's just a feature. However, Hannah is a whole different story. If you looked at Hannah you would just see a twelve-year-old girl with dimples and dark, kinky hair. Hannah and I have a rapport relationship. I'm on top of her head watching her grow up into an intelligent teenager. I'm the dark, kinky hair and I have been here for the tough times like when her dad had died and when she got bullied in third grade for having a wonky smile. She would

One afternoon, at Kint High School, the students in room 214 were itching for the bell to ring so they can go home. Mark Sanders, a skinny short haired boy, was waiting for something more interesting; Basketball tryouts. “Come on, Come on please let this day be over.” Whispered Mark. He purposely did this to make sure nobody heard him. “Why are you so anxious? It's not like you any good.” Hollered Sheila, the most annoying girl in the class. Mark shot a look at Shiela that would be fatal if looks could kill. Sheila laughed “You're always quiet, just wait until you need to talk during basketball.” “Mind your business, don't worry about me I don't need to talk loud to play ball.” “Shiela why you always gotta be so negative, and Mark you think you're so much better than everybody. You have to start speaking up.” Uttered Mark’s friend Johnny. “You know what-” Shiela tried to talk but the bell cut her off.

Just before the doors closed a man all in black slipped into the ambulance. The little girl stared at him but no one else seemed to notice the man, dressed up like a fairytale prince in mourning, with burning green eyes. Her dad held her hand and the uniformed men hooked her up to tubes and sensors but it all felt far away, nothing was real except for the man in black and as monitors screamed and the ambulance workers rushed around her, putting something over her mouth and nose and barking out commands, the world went silent, and then it went dark, her only thought being of emerald eyes in the blackness.

Jump!!! My dog jumps on my bed looking at me. I could tell he was going to bark closing my ears from the loud screechy bark. And then he jumps off my bed only to play with his rope. I sit up staring at my phone that was bright I look at my dog waiting for me to get up.

Soon, our group started climbing the waterfall. The water was poring down hard. This is so cool! I thought. The erosion from the water created steps out of the natural rock and stone. I cautiously stepped from rock to rock. The dark rocks were very slippery, so i tried to avoid them as best as I could. The more I climbed the more i could feel the pressure of the water. It felt very heavy as I tried to move my feet. They felt as if they were getting heavier and heavier with every step.

It was a dry summer afternoon before the arrival of fall, and the beginning of a new school year in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. That afternoon few of my friends from Chicago named Marshall, Kevin, Connor and I had been planning to head over to Marshall’s house after school. As the bell sounded at 2:20pm we ran quickly to our lockers, and made it to the buses. All four of us met at Marshall’s house which was tucked in behind the forest preserve along a private road off Quentin road. The conditions were just right for riding around on our dirt bikes and go-karts although at the time 85 degrees was quite warm to us Chicagoans at the end September.

Dear Henry, I thought of you the other day when I was driving to work going 60 on the 210 freeway. That must be an astonishing speed for a man of your age to imagine, but for our time, it is an average speed, that which those who accomplish it don't give it a second thought.

Aaron Collins knew he had to go to sleep soon. He turned clockwise and leaned from his desk chair to check the time again. On the nightstand to the right of his desk, his alarm clock was glowing a faint neon blue and informed him it was 3:29. Suddenly, the last digit flickered and changed to zero. It was pitch dark in his spacious room except for the light flooding from his school computer. Aaron sat back in his chair and began typing again. He has been working on his essay about China’s extensive government and how it differs from our own for the past five hours. Thankfully, he remembered the actual due date explicitly states tomorrow instead of Tuesday. He pulled his face away from the screen and rubbed his chin. His eyes were like marbles

It was a sunny fall day. The leaves were crunching like potato chips every time you stepped. They were lovely and magnificent orange, red, yellow, and everything between. It wasn’t quite freezing but a cup of would not have melted. My family had just woke up, Including my best friend Joyce who had stayed the night the night before. At the table while eating breakfast, my sisters, Joyce, and I were all begging and pleading my mom to take us to a pumpkin patch. She finally agreed to take us so we all got ready.