Creative Writing: Abomination

“Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian

I woke with a start by the subtle squeaks of my sinking mattress. As I looked around in distress, I noticed a shadowy figure looming above my tiny twelve year old frame. Once my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I recognised the figure as my mother, and I set free the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. Our eyes briefly met and she promptly stood up and fled my bedroom. My mind reeled with the obscurity of the situation. I came to the conclusion that a glass of water would be just the thing to help me clear my head of the torrent of ideas of why she had been looming over

Back in the main level of the factory, Wolf and Fox find Hawk lying on the ground, pale and unresponsive, his bulletproof vest next to him and the edges of a red stain showing around a wad of gauze. A soldier that Fox assumes is N-Unit's medic kneels next to him, along with Snake and Coyote. The three medics are talking frantically among themselves. The rest of N-Unit hovers nervously nearby; the rest of H-Unit is nowhere to be seen. Dust particles dance through the beams of sunlight from the holes where windows used to be, giving the whole scene a strangely dreamy air.

I hate creative writing! I used to have an affection to write all the time, but now it just doesn’t give me pleasure anymore. Also, the books that I get from the class are horrendous too. It’s extremely tough to read a book when it doesn’t even excite anyone at all! reading and writing is exceptional when the writer, that is yourself, comes up with the idea, and your thoughts matter. But now review me, I’m forced to read an irrelevant book about a pathetic guy, and I’m writing about foolish Dylan Montgomery who thinks I’m broken! I’ve lose respect for something that I love to create

In stunned silence, she watched the red pool of liquid widen. Someone grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the floor. When she tried to yank her arm away, Razaa sandwiched her hand between his two palms. “Please, Sara Mommy. Trust me,” he mouthed. Before he was done, the room erupted in screams.

Jolie tried her hardest to remain quiet as she entered the dark, musty basement that smelt like dead animals. The music played loudly, which masked the creaks of the stairs she stepped on. She gripped the broom tightly in her hand. Jolie squinted her eyes around to make out anything that made the music turn on or the loud crashes. Her eyes rested on a man and she tried her hardest not to panic. She quickly, but quietly turned around and walked up the stairs trying to remain calm all the while. When the man started humming along with the violin music she began to cry; she didn’t want to cry. Jolie gripped the railing and the broom slipped from her hand and fell down the stairs. The man jerked around made eye contact with her. He was frowning and then a devilish smirk appeared. She let out the scream she had been holding in for what seemed like forever. Jolie

The executioner cut her body down and threw it into a wagon pulled by a mule. The crisp summer air tickled Evangeline’s skin as she stared out from under her hood in horror. She couldn’t quite grasp what had just happened to the love of her life. All she knew was a hot, burning sensation that filled her heart as she felt a sudden rage. Her fists

Then some of people noticed a new guest, dress as a clothes of the Red Death. Everyone was freaking out because of him. When Prince Prospero saw this guy, he became angry and asked courtiers to seize him and unmask him. But no one have the courage to do it, including Prospero himself. The Red Death walked through the rooms, heading toward the black room. Prospero chased him with taking his dagger. Prospero reached the edge of the dark room, the Red Death suddenly turned to face him, and Prospero fell on the ground and dead. "Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revelers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony

By Saturday afternoon, the eighty-seven residents of the rural southern town of Wrongberight have suffered through four days of intense intermittent rainstorms. And to add to their misery another storm approaches the town from the northeast. Now, Clemmy Sue Jarvis since birth has lived here and has a simple philosophy concerning weather. As long as the almighty man upstairs allows her to draw a breath, she will enjoy life, regardless of the weather. At four o’clock, she lifts her petite frame into her rusty Ford pickup, and gradually eases out of her driveway. The soaring Pines that surround her home sway to the rhythm of the gusting wind as she turns south onto Flat Bottom Road and follows it along the edge the Dismal Swamp towards the isolated

Whoever that is, was it so obvious that she was torn? Dizzy wondered if it was just Fallen that might notice or if she were wearing some damned sign or something. Maybe it was a guess, or nothing at all, Dizzy had no idea but she didn't want to dwell on it. Not when she had something that actually made her happy right in front of her. "Well anyone after any part of you will have to go through me." she spoke with a real amount of censarity in her words before a shiver ran down her spine.

Some of the injuries he’d witnessed were so horrific they made his blood run cold and his legs turn to jelly. But this, hearing his beloved’s child pained shrieks all but undid him. To stand at the boy’s head muttering vague reassurances was inadequate. He needed to do something.

By nightfall they had finished all of the burials. It was depressing to see how many people were dead, even more so knowing that wasn’t the majority of them. Several times throughout the day new carcasses were dumped carelessly on the dwindling pile, just adding another hole to dig.

The familiar, tortured strain of my mother’s voice curdled my stomach. I flung open my bedroom door and sprinted into the living room. My lungs were on fire. My eyes darted around the room frantically until they landed on him. There he was, the man I was forced to call my father. He lumbered towards me, this big atrocity of a creature, swaying dangerously from side to side. His dark, hooded eyes met mine. A supercilious, arrogant smirk was plastered onto his face. Tumescent flesh spilt from the sides of his leather belt, his stomach jutting out comically. He was a man with barely any neck, the red flush of alcohol staining his pug-like face. Oh, how the sight of him boiled my blood.

The water dragged and strapped her down from all possible sides. The more she struggled the more disorientated she became. Left, right, up, down she couldn’t make any sense of it all. She pushed with her arms and legs but she couldn’t find any leverage, for all she knew she was forcing herself further down. Her lungs craved for more air and even though she knew she wouldn’t receive enough, her body still took a final breath. Cold water filled her lungs, burning her throat as if hundreds of needles had pierced into it. Her muscles relaxed and she was oddly calm for a moment - then everything slowly faded too black.

“You cut you’re beautiful, long hair after your return. Mom thought you were in protesting the war, but I saw you two. I knew the real reason you cut the longest blond braid in the neighborhood.”