Creative Writing: Blindly Bones

“Wake up,” that’s what I heard after passing out from all the blows to the face. My vision is blurred I’m trying to stay awake but I lost consciousness; all of a sudden I felt a splash of coldness on my face, and I woke up gasping for air. The man with the deep ominous voice said, “Wakey wakey little man” I replied, “where the h*ll is Mako!” when I was fully aware of where I was, that’s when I started to panic.

It is essential to understand that classes taken in grade school do not give students a full understanding of each subject. With the topic of writing, there will always be a new lesson to learn, an aspect to improve, or a differing way to explain. Author Craig Vetter states in Bonehead Writing, “This is your enemy: a perfectly empty sheet of paper. Nothing will ever happen here except what you make happen.” Each story, essay, or response comes from a writer’s experiences. With each attempt at a new piece comes an underlying story of emotions the writer is facing. Each person’s writing is unique and the ideas people have are related to their past experiences and what they believe to be familiar with when deciding which writing style to use. As a high school student, I have learned many things about writing that helped me become the improved writer I am today, but the most essential advice I have received is practice makes perfect. Although there is no actual perfect way of writing, I have discovered that each essay I write, my writing improves. It is easier to spot mistakes, find areas to improve, and ponder elevated word choice to use.

One thursday afternoon around 12:30 me and my friends andreas and emily were sitting on on top of the monkey bars at my current school , St. Thomas More talking. Andreas would always jump off the monkey bars to show off to Emily, me and the other girls. We would always watch kind of amazed as Andreas jumped off the monkey bars landing perfectly. He gave us a look as if it was our turn to jump. We ignored him as we made room for Andreas and other girls to come up to sit.

As the winds wisp through the willowy woods on one warm November nighttime, our worrisome subject eyes a wooden orifice far into the night. The crunch of leaves and pinestraw accompany his stroll through the midnight Mississippi forest. Spanish moss waves through the wind as Deacon, or as he is affectionately known by his friends as Deac, moves ever so closer to this new object. It is the source of his visit to this mundane backwood land that appears otherworldly to Deac. A cabin in the woods is where Deacon is making his trek to, to visit his girlfriend’s family. “They could’ve told me that I couldn’t drive to the cabin,” Deacon mumbled to himself as he battles the brisk, hard blast of the breeze in the barren woodland. Deacon reaches the door of the

“Sometimes,” said Dr. Stedman, “it can take years to construct an exhibit.” “Wow”! Said Lilla as she watched Dr. Stedman work on a brontosaurus skeleton. “First we have to clean and repair the bones,” he said. “Do you mean you glue broken ones back together,” asked Lilla. “Yes they we make plaster replacements for any bones that are missing,” he replied. “We have to put steel rods inside the bones so they Don’t collapse” he added. “It seems like doing a jigsaw puzzle,” said Lilla. “That’s true,” he said. “It’s like doing the biggest puzzle in the world.”

I hold all of her. I hold all of her memories, all of her aspirations, all of her secrets. I even hold what’s left of her physical being. I hold her remains, the remains of her deteriorating body, the remains of her withering memory, the remains of her. You see, she lives in me. She died in me. The rest of her life, will be spent inside of me with nothing to do but look back at her life and wonder. I often felt her wondering, not about herself, but those who surrounded her. She wondered about her kooky grandmother; how she went to the store everyday on her birthday and bought herself flowers, because she was her own person and would be damned if told otherwise. She thought about her father; how he was both a pessimist and naive all

As hunters, Darrel and Peter had a job to do. They had to hunt anything ghostly, paranormal, or supernatural. Because they weren’t typical hunters, they were monster hunters. They have had many adventures, hunting werewolves, vampires, and they even killed demons. But their next adventure couldn’t compare to anything that they have ever faced before…

“You scout the area?” She asked. They looked like an old, faded, black and white picture, that only she could see.

Once upon a time before the Earth was made, there were two creations called Cloud and Blizzard. Cloud had soft white fur and warm green eyes. Blizzard was also white with grey streaks and blue eyes.

Briar and his men stayed at the inn adjoining the tavern that night with the intent to continue their trip the following morning.

Benji Jeffers sat in silence. He plopped himself down on a rock, slumping into a lazy posture, and stared. Something about his demeanor was eerily calm, looking back on it. After all, we were, in fact, stranded.

I glanced down at the scruffy Chihuahua mix happily chewing on a discarded stick, her tail furiously wagging back and forth. When she heard her name, she quickly lifted her brown head and looked up at me before returning to her previous task. I smiled and snatched the stick from the ground, slowly backing away from her. Princess quickly stood up and let out a defiant bark, which earned a laugh for me. She playfully lunged at the stick multiple times until I gave up and tossed the stick over my back, watching her chase after it. Princess was such a unique dog, and I was grateful that my uncle got her for me after years of pleading my family for a dog. At first, I was little bummed out because she was a small dog and I wanted a bigger breed, but I immediately got over that within an hour or so of having her. She was nothing short of a spitfire, and she had such a great personality. It was impossible not to love her. If anything ever happened to her, I

The Wolves had a suppressed excitement, held just below the surface of their neutral stares. It was clear they felt like this mission was their reward for their hard work, which was true. There was pride in their eyes. All of the men had worked hard and proven their mantle to me. Indeed, having fought to protect Derwen’s freehold and estate had stolen their innocence. Hajin had told me our success had pushed them beyond blind loyalty to hero-worship for the “white” wizard. Falling into the column next to Julie I prayed we wouldn’t need to spend any of their lives on this trip.

“I was being sarcastic,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. I paced around the perimeter of the small cell while Hunter sat nonchalantly in the middle watching me. We were trapped in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, all because my clan thought it would be wise if he and I were to partner up on this job. Hunter and I couldn’t be any more different. He was charismatic and a ladies man, while I was introverted and didn’t think highly of the opposite gender. Not to mention we had… Let’s just say creative differences. But as much as I complained, my requests to work alone were not heard. The elders said it would be better if I

“Thank you Paxton,” exclaimed the elderly woman Mrs.Hanson. It was a routine Saturday morning and Paxton the paper boy was running his usual route. Paxton has been running this route for 2 years now. Ever since his parents passed it’s been the one thing he looks forward to every weekend. Pax doesn’t usually have much to look forward to because all he does in life is go to high school and sit around home with his godparents. He wasn't a studly boy, small, skinny, with jet black hair and bright blue eyes. His route, as always, ended with Mr.Shaun’s small home at the end of Huckle Road. Paxton always has had to walk up and deliver Mr.S’s paper because he was put in a wheelchair from a car accident a few years back. He noticed that the door was wide open, so he walked right through and felt a strong shove of cool air (personification). There was no Mr.Shaun, but there was a rather strange machine right there in the entry way. It was intriguing and Paxton walked up to it to give it a look. He felt his left leg press up against the machine and heard a clicking sound. He realized he had pushed a small lever and before he knew it, everything was black.