Brokeback Mountain Creative Writing

One day, cutting through the swamp, David comes across the remains of old Indian souls and discovers a skull with jewelry still buried on the bodies. As David kicks at the skull, he hears a voice and looks up to see a black man seated on a stump just looking. The man, wearing a black sash around his body, has a soot-stained face, which makes it appear as if he works in some fiery place. David soon recognizes the stranger as the devil, the black man. Twenty years later we had a family reunion with all my relatives and they started talking about the fire.

Sunshine was pouring out from in between the buildings, casting shadows all around Ponyboy and the gang as they walked to Pony’s school. They were taking their time walking down the streets and for the first time they all were really seeing what was all around them. Memories were surfacing in their minds showing them what it all meant to them. With every step they took on the sidewalk they remembered a different memory as if they were walking down memory lane. Ponyboy didn’t think it was possible for him to be walking down this street for the last time as a high school student, but he had gone through the years with great grades that earned him many scholarships.

I comfortably drive my car into the desolate street, Perusing the deserted buildings, Smashes windows and rusted For Sale signs. The car locked up like Fort Knox. I observe the street for trouble. Two young boys look at me from afar as if I'm an alien. Do I stand out that much same greasy hair, expensive clothes, a smart car I suppose I am out of my comfort zone? “Mister, you don’t belong here” his hand gripped his switch. “Pony.... Ponyboy Curtis” I stammer “I live here or at least I did, I'm here to see two-bit’ The Boys turn around “geez his old now” the boy's chirp. The boys stroll away in awe that they saw the great Ponyboy.

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

The technique was the following: In going down hill, one wheel was fixed with a shoe that itself was

“Yes I am dad.” Kevin screaming at the top of his lungs,” Mr.Cromwell needs to go!” While Howie and Kevin argued ,Cromwell was over there eating Kevin’s breakfast, waffles. It was too late, Howie and Kevin turned around ,the waffles were gone.Kevin and Howie went straight over to doggy daycare. Cromwell had stayed 1 hour knowing he wanted to leave.

My Big Madea was a pistol. She was as resilient as the steel covering and dangerous if messed with.Nevertheless,she was filled with bullets of love. She might not be in a history book,but she should be in my eyes. If I had an hour more to talk to her I would ask how she did it all?, What drove her to be so resilient?, and How she feels about living in a country for a 101 years without equality? The fact that she never saw equality fuels me to be an activist and reminds me to be leader and a marcher in whatever capacity I can. Rachel Cleveland was born of a slave in 1914 in Montgomery Texas. She received a sixth grade education from an all black school and never left her town. She faced the oppression of the Deep South from birth to 2017. Rebelling

"They're sleeping," he says. "You sneak up on them while they're sleeping." I can see his rounded back and the row of tiny knobs that runs up to his neck. The rippling water of the stream makes his back look strange. It looks striped like a trout, or maybe like he's been whipped.

The Florida summer of 2014 was, to describe it in a single word, hot. Sweltering, boiling, hot-enough-for-me-to-buy-a-twenty-dollar-handheld-electric-fan heat engulfed the town of Orlando and the Disney World park, drowning attendants in the thick, sultry summer air. Thousands of people and families gathered in the parks daily, which obviously wasn’t a help concerning the heat, and each person had at least one person in common with each other: obvious signs of being out in the heat for too long of a time, including sweating profusely and having a constant “I’m in the happiest place on earth but the heat makes me want to die” look on their faces. As per usual in these conditions, Splash Mountain seemed to be quite popular, offering the only

Next, he has to decide where to go hunting that specific day. “He pays attention to the weather and wind direction,” his daughter Rebecca commented. Finally, his favorite part about deer hunting begins: “The challenge of trying to outwit the deer.” Before the season even starts, he has a passion for figuring out their patterns, and looking to see where they are going to be as well as always trying to stay one step ahead of them. Where are they going this year compared to last year? What’s changed? “It's a challenge; they are smart animals.”

Welcome to Sandersville, Georgia. A quaint, little town nestled in Washington County with a population of under 6,000. Seated happily in the Bible Belt, there are more churches than gas stations in the Southern city. We pass the only gas station for miles on the corner of the main street as my family heads to my Aunt’s house. The drive from Atlanta to Sandersville was slower than molasses running up hill—at least according to my mother. Sara Armour is the epitome of the southern belle. A well-spoken lady, she was born in Atlanta, but raised in Milledgeville, GA following her parents’ divorce. With bright red lipstick and a blonde bob, she looks like the carbon copy of her older sisters in that musty kitchen

His blood was on my clothes and on my skin. They had my fingerprints imprinted in the stuff. It was all the evidence they needed. It was all the evidence anyone would need. I didn’t kill him, though. Honest.

The sound of the wind flowing through the snowy grass excited Michael even more than he already was. He had never been to Alaska, so this was very exciting. He couldn’t wait to get to the cabin.

Wielding his crudely-formed dirk, Alo vaulted over the rotting log at his feet, ran over a stretch of soggy leaves, and ducked behind the colossal tree that towered every other object on the island. At that moment, Alo heard a noise; a rustle; a crunch of a stack of leaves. In the distance, he spotted one of the many intruders out to decimate them, enjoying a meal beside another towering tree. Alo tiptoed towards him, as quiet as a cheetah advancing towards its next meal. As Alo approached the infiltrator, he raised his weapon, ready to neutralize his target. When the man finally realized his situation, he was defenseless; he pushed himself back against the large tree and begged for mercy, cowering in fear, just like an unlucky animal cornered

The sound of running footsteps batters the muffled air, and then a cry. Jakub, his bare feet filthy and bleeding, almost catches his wife's shoulder as she flees under the gothic archway of the Bridge Tower. But a chipped cobble tears the ball of his foot and he sprawls on the wet stones. By the time he heaves himself upright