Creative Writing: Black Ops

“I’ll never hit you in the face where it will leave a mark...” The words rushed in, taunting. The cold emptiness in the tone, like he was there in the room, whispering in her ear. And all at once, the fear was back. The raw fear that gripped her body like a vice and left her gulping in air. In a panic, she whirled her head around the room. She was alone. Relief flooded her, but the sickening butterflies remained. She gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white; outlining the jagged scar more prominently, and she fought to steady her breathing, blink back the tears, focus on something else.

“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

The anger flowed through her veins and killed her mind as if it was a deadly toxin to her spirit. Her eyes which were once full of innocence and happiness were now full of fire and would kill anybody in their path. Just by looking into her burning stare would slash you into tiny, bloody pieces. No one that knew her would be able to recognise her, as the girl they once knew was gone, and it was all because of him; the vicious, cold-blooded

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.

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.

Slowly she began to back away toward back door; she pressed her back against the fly screen and wrapped her hand around the door handle. Footsteps made their way toward their door and a fist banged against the wood, the door ricocheting off the fist and wiggling. Her mother then gasped and slowly walked to the door, wrapping her hand around her belly she opened the door and Djinda darted to hide in the kitchen.

A scream bubbled up inside her as strong hand grasped her mouth, muffling any chance for help. His hot breath tickled her cheek as they disappeared into the woods just outside of town. Her eyes scanned in every direction, trying to find an escape, but his large body was all around her, enveloping her like the fog that was rolling in in an ungodly manner. It blanketed the forest like a mother tucking her children in at night. The little life that Evangeline lived flashed before her eyes, most of it spent with Lila. Without much hope of survival left, she thought of the only thing she could do. A swift kick to the shin sent him hobbling in the opposite direction after dropping Evangeline to the ground. She sat in a heap covered in mud and wet leaves, staring up at her attacker who was hopping on one leg favoring his injured

Rippling in the wind, the banner struck fear into its foes. Slightly squinting, John read the poster. “Join the revolution, Join the Black Panthers Now!” Having always wanted to rebel against the Jim Crow laws, now was his chance. Old cars were parked neatly outside the diner as John walked past. Teenagers bolted to the bowling alley with their friends as if their days of youth would end. Finally, John found the base of The Black Panthers. Lacquered Black doors obstructed his path. As his sweaty palms touched to cold handle, his heart pumped faster. Not knowing what would happen to him, reinforced his tenaciousness and reminded himself why he was here. Swallowing his nervousness, he opened the black doors. A squeak from the door pierced

Trey pulled aside the white curtain, let a ray of sunlight dropping in his bedroom, a spatial room with gray walls, ornamented with his misty and cloudy sky floor to ceiling painting.

Waking up, it was the first time in months I haven't had a dream or memory. It made me nervous, but I shrugged it off. Boston. He was the one person on my mind. So many questions and yet no answers.

Like long lost memories, the gentle wind blew across the wide, empty fields. Long grasses swayed where snarled barbed wire and brandished bayonet had once been displayed and poppies died the guilty land as blood stains an assassin's hands. Between the endless lines of tomb stones a lone figure walked. His brow is furrowed and stern and his countenance unchanging as the ageless guardians who stand at attention side by side. His feet direct him along the rows of graves among the shifting shadows cast by the sinking sun. Now he pauses before a cross unmarked and undistinguished from its companions. Engraved within ageless face are the initials A.F. Harold stood before the cross, his hand raised in salute, his countenance in stone. After a few

“I’m so sorry about what happened Margot,” the teacher began truly sorrowful. “If there is any way I could help you feel better”.

“This won’t hurt at all, just stay still,” the nurse said while holding the cynical weapon in her hand. It’s sharp point came closer and closer to its victim, me. “Ayesha, calm down, it will be quick,” my mom said while trying to comfort me with my stuffed animal. Wanting to win this battle, I fidgeted in my mom’s arms by kicking my feet and flailing my arms, and finally, cried.

This guy must be a maniac. Before my eyes flashes the pictures of all the crazy serial killer documentaries I've ever seen. He probably had been stalking me for weeks and then he found his opportunity to capture me, to take me to a place where no one will ever find me, right when I was at my weakest.

Time crawled by at a snail’s pace. Poisonous chatter permeated the air, plots of vengeance bounced off the dull walls corrupting hearts. Inmates planned to abscond the upcoming torturous hours before it started. A few desks away from me a fellow classmate scratched away at his desk. Like that’s gonna help, I thought, everyone knows it’s the legs that trap you.