Creative Writing: A Midsummer-Personal Narrative

“After defeating the Cyclops Polyphemus, my men grew exhausted. They grew thirsty from rowing under the beating hot sun. Sweat dripped down their heads and the ship’s deck grew moist from the mix of the salty, seawater and sweat. We stopped by on a nearby island.

The sun was about to rise, but it was still dark outside in the city of Crete. A tall muscular man with chestnut brown hair and eyes that shifted between an emerald green and an electric blue was getting ready for the upcoming race by running laps around the city. His name was Grigolo and he claimed to be the fastest runner on the planet. Grigolo got out of his bed quite loudly and his wife stirred in her sleep groggily asking,

I put on my dress and look in the mirror. Hm I'm not sure I like it, I'll

“AAH, I must have overslept!” The Hero rushed towards the window, and he saw that Monster Zero must have been busy for at least a few hours. He gathered all his weapons, and ran towards Monster Zero, somewhere where he could not be seen. “Alright, all monsters have a weak point, so where could it be……..aha! Monster Zero’s neck isn’t covered by any scales, so I must attack there!”

My relationship with writing has varied throughout my life. As a young child, I found that though the process of writing came easily once I started, I dreaded the preparation. However, whenever someone asked me if I enjoyed writing, my answer was always yes. I spent time in elementary school writing on my own; I found it to be a great creative outlet as well as a stress reliever. I know, you’re probably wondering how much stress could I have had at seven or eight years old. You’d be surprised. Anyway, that’s not the point of this letter.

Again, the dark laughter echoed in her head. Shit, shit, shit. She was so damn stupid, so bloody arrogant. In spite of the sunglasses she wore to lessen the risk of overstimulation to her senses, the lenses were no safeguards against the weighted stares of the people on the bus, and Tung wasn’t here acting as a buffer.

The strawberry blonde sighed as she maneuvered through the bustling cafe, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep for five to sixty years.

My son’s Hunter Safety card came in the mail today. He tucked the card in his pocket.

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.

I gathered together all of the paintings, and finally slipped on my dress, and a pair of white heels, i added a gold thick necklace. Then I heard a knock at the door. King went running and barking. I answered the door and there he was in a tux, he looked so so ? Handsome, I had wanted to touch since the minute I touched him to seen him the man of my dreams a local flower boy, seemed silly but hey he was cute.

“I don’t want her Syd, I want you.” Syd blushed. “I want you to Steven.”

“Meet me at the apartment from this morning at five am tomorrow.” I released my hold. As I made my way through the living room I heard the news anchor.

Luke put his hand on Mikes shoulder. “Mike I know you don’t believe that bull you’re saying right now.” Toni pleaded with Mike, “You have us so walk away from her.”

Tara and I sat in the coffee shop, “How’s everything going? Still no leads or anything?”

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.