Creative Writing: Biot Harrison

“Creative Writing” by Etgar Keret, shows the struggles of the couple grieving a miscarriage, though their stories that they wrote in creative writing class. Maya the wife write three different stories, the first one showing how a loss of an unborn child can make someone feel like they have died, or lost a part of themselves. The second is about how a women a may go through a period where she feels detached from her husband. The third is about the journey of accepting a miscarriage and ready try again. Aviad’s story is about continuously adapting to change and always remembering where you came from.

I ran, my feet bloodied and aching, my ankle unsteady and shrieking in pain. I ignored it, gasping

"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.

Turning off the TV, Andrew grabbed his keys and rushed to the garage, angry for not being more cautious. Driving down the street as fast as he could to get to the cleaners, he said, “I wonder if Margaret has her phone. I will call it,” he said, pushing the buttons, he waited, and said, “Oh, no; it went directly to voice mail. She must have turned it off, but why would she do that?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t vote for him. I didn’t vote for anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I'm very outgoing person, but that doesn't work here at Hickman. I've learned that you have to either fall in the “smart” category or the “dumb” category being outgoing and fun to be around isn't really a thing. It took me some time to realize that there isn't a true friend here, once you tell your “best friend” something the whole schools know, so it's just easier to keep your feeling in or everyone know.

She forced herself to breathe slowly so she could think. How did I end up here? Why was I here? Her mind drew a blank. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember a single bloody thing. She threw everything she had left in her fading mind

You could feel the riot before you could see it. There was something else in the crisp early morning New York air, a certain electricity. A certain static that could only have been brought about by the winds of change. Even at three am the city is usually alive, but in these early Saturday morning hours Christopher Street was more alive than usual. However, it wasn't the normal flamboyant energy it had come to been known for. It was an angry energy, one that's only capable of being created by an oppressed group fed up with the constant mistreatment they've too long endured.

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.

Anyway, how the hell she ended here? her memory recalls she was wandering in the middle of night, and then there, unconscious on the grassy grounds of Goldenrod’s national park, everything was covered in blood, even her and besides her, some

"I'm fine baby, it was you I was worried about." With his arms on her shoulders, Richard peered into Lexi's eyes, and gritted his teeth at the tears that dripped down his cheeks. What happened to her whilst he'd been fucking around, waiting for darkness to come?" Now wasn't the time to ask, and although a rage, directed at Karl Williams, exacerbated by the memories of his own treatment at the hands of the many many years ago, consumed him, and led to the thought of , despited his questions and fears, of streaming through the closed door, and confronting him and Blair Huntington to demand their freedom. However, common-sense overrode emotions and with Lexi clutching on to his hand, he wiped a tear gently from her cheek, and followed her to the

The stones looked out of place and uneven as Edward wandered the street. He hold one hand on the wall as he walked. One time he almost slipped, but he steadied himself on a railing. It almost made him vomit. The drunkenness tore him apart every day, but he could not stop it. Joy appeared in the ale he drank, and when the glass was dry, the sadness hurt again. He had tried to forget it for years, but the memory always came back. Edward remembered himself standing in the chaos trying to help a cause he did not remember. The entire memory bore violence, blood and a death in the family. That day was a turn of events for him. He remember him holding a rifle and shooting warning shots in the air. Edward was sixteen, a man grown, with start of a beard

"I know you need to go as quietly as possible and find the setoff traps and throw them in the dumpster outside"

I had one tattoo, but I was afraid of forever - of commitment. My tattoo stood for everything that meant forever to me: my brother. "Joshua Hale Burnes" was etched into every fine line and crevice of my wrist, in the most spirally and gothic of fonts. I had plenty of scars that would only fade and never disappear, but my scars weren't a commitment. Promising my therapist I'd try to get better, promising my mom to raise my 3.9 GPA - these were a few of the "promises" I was scared of. Who knew if I could get better? Who knew if I wanted to get better?

As sick as it was Gabby needed a drink, and she hated herself for it. Pulling her knees up Gabby rested her head against them and wrapped her hands around her ears as if to block out the world. It felt as if she were being sucked down the rabbit hole, her world spiraling out of control. And the only anchor she had was dying next to her, and she was the one that killed him. "fuck." she sobbed softly tried to block out all the other people arriving. She wanted to crawl into her own skin and disappear, but she couldn't do that. At least not until she knew Hunter would be