Creative Writing: Amnesia Of A Dreamer

"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.

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.

Drenched and frozen, only the warmth from their mothers’ kept the young creatures sustained. The trees’ limbs hung low from the weight of the swampy atmosphere; causing the joyous ambience of the forest to restrain her passion.

‘They hurt me. So I hurt them’ I said, emotionless, letting my feelings run out like a tap. My head was clear, dangerous. Objects became distorted. Clarice’s face became white. Her heart was a gunshot, piercing my ears with bullets. She waved her arms about and shook her head as if she was trying to will out the memories, the words, the actions.

Sue froze where she stood, frozen for what must have felt like hours. “You mean, he waited all of this time to paint his masterpiece and not only did he paint it for me but – he used his life to paint it.” Sue was overwhelmed at the thought, she was the reason Mr. Behrman had gone out that night, she was the reason he had passed away. “I caused his demise, my own selfishness did this!” Sue cried. Johnsy quickly took hold of Sue’s hands and said to her: “No darling, you did just the opposite, you showed Mr. Behrman what he had been looking for, for these years. You inspired his masterpiece!” Understanding then that Mr. Behrman’s sacrifice for her, was no sacrifice at all, his dream had been fulfilled and he had continued his journey. At that

He wakes up on the cold, clean surface of a table rock. A rough candelabra flickers at his side as he stirs. Next to it there's three cut roses. Red. A look around and he finds he's in a cave. At the end of one actually. The air is mossy, thick. He doesn't know why he's here or how. Worse, he doesn't know who he is or who he was. He remembers this is called amnesia.

A blue house, red shutters, and a white picket fence with a border collie. Three kids are running around in the front lawn up on a hilltop. That is what the American dream is right? The American dream is truly in the eye of the beholder. One might think that the American dream is an apartment in downtown Los Angeles, but others might want the smell of fresh cut grass in a small suburb. It’s whatever the person who is working for it wants it to be. As we can see in the play, all of the main characters might be striving for an American dream, but none of them are striving for their same American dream.

“Notes” began in onstage as Madeleine jumped around in a struggle to put on pants. Christine’s Il Muto costume had so many elaborate layers. The skirt, petticoat, and maid’s hat still lay on the countertop. She tied her hair back with a ribbon, and ran to the nearby full-length mirror to inspect her heavy stage makeup. It wasn’t too bad; a bit cakey, but nothing she couldn’t fix in the few minutes she had left. Madeleine reached blindly for her large makeup case and then let out a cry as it toppled onto the white tile. She muttered a curse, crouching down in a hurry to put it all back into the black box. The scene was about to progress into “Primadonna.” Placing the makeup into generally organized positions, she closed up the box and glanced up at her reflection. Oddly, it seemed to quiver a bit. Madeleine blinked, and it was gone.

“If this doesn’t work, I’m blaming you.”, Zelda whispered as they were doing a dramatic walk towards the flowers.

(Gets out of bed, sits on bed) *deep sigh* Thoughts. Thoughts have been flying sharply through my head like an arrow. Thoughts have made me insomniac ever since I fled Scotland. I am living a restless nightmare. With my beloved father murdered, what am I to do? Indeed, he had educated me with the agendas to become a great king. But I am still in my youth, an adolescent who is not yet suitable to rule a great kingdom! I’m not ready…….. Will I ever be ready?

I stormed around to see a gaping bullet wound through John’s chest. He’s on his knees now, grasping at his bloodied chest in disbelief, gasping for dear life. Without any hesitation about my own life, I dashed back towards him and caught him just before he fell flat on his face. I lowered him towards the ground, as he took the last few excruciatingly painful breaths of his life. The hot bullet had pierced through his back and out of his chest. John was in such agony, that he couldn’t even let out a single word. He was whimpering in my hands, trembling around as if he was a scared child in the dark. The fact that my brother died in my own hands would haunt me for the rest of my

“It most certainly is not,” retorted Phillie. “Freddie is that terrible man from those awful movies made years ago. The man who would attack children in their sleep.”

The bar had an upbeat vibe to it. It wasn’t the high end bar where you could pay to get your ass kissed and your feet rubbed, but at least you didn’t have to worry about walking outside and getting robbed or stabbed on your way home. It was a fairly unremarkable place, a plain black building, a neon sign outside the only hint to the place being able to serve alcohol. Most meandered around, drinking and talking, with the occasional dance when a rather catchy song found it’s way onto the less than stellar sound system.

As he stared down the dark, winding streets of London it was evident that he was in pain beyond imagination. His eyes were evidently engorged and it could be seen through the purple clouds around his eyes that he was close to losing all control of his senses. Blood was seeping from the deep hole in the upper right corner of his left shoulder, every sluggish step he took forward sent a searing pain through his nerves all the way to the wound, leaving no chance for the blood loss to halt. The cold rain was falling gently onto the gloomy road surrounding him but it bothered him not, the dangerously dark setting in fact paid tribute to his murky charisma. His head hung, long grimy hair falling over his eyes as he looked straight down at the aged

that people died there at alarmingly great numbers. That (can As be used here?), I was told was,