Creative Writing: Cath's Narrative Fiction

Staring at the screen, the young author sighed in frustration, her fingers once again failing her as she was distracted by the din of the news on TV. Resigned, she shut it off and turned back to her blank document wishing for the ability to channel her emotions towards the high expectations placed before her, as well as the stigmas. She was growing tired of the starkness of the world around her.

“I’d lose it if something happened to you y’know?” says Becky as she’s wiping a tear from her eye. My mom comes back with some ice cream from the hospital cafeteria. Behind her was another familiar face.

She hadn’t imagined the charachters so vividly. She hadn’t realized just what she had written or how much she had overestimated the challenge of finishing it. All she had to do was exctly what she had already done - in just a few weeks - again. She had thought she was too young or too inexperienced to write somthing amazing or intricate or meaningful, but as she read over her novel she realized that she already had.

“I thought it was my memory of my mother. What she would say if she was here.” Tizbeth reached out with the little magic she had, that served her so well.

She was being sent to a foster home, and all she needed at that moment was hope. She held onto the book she stole that day of her brother’s funeral. In the library, she has this feeling that the world is not deserving of her friends. She has lost all hope in the world, due to the treatment of her friends and the war. As a result, the one thing that brought her peace and comfort, words, she no longer wanted.

Jack couldn’t even begin to imagine how Phryne, a mother, was feeling about exposing two of the things that she loved most to the horrors the two of them dealt with on a daily basis. He couldn’t help but feel some kind of loss as to what that would feel like as he and Rosie had never been blessed. Of course, Jane and Ruth looked up to him and he treated them like he would his nieces and nephews, but he knew there was a bond between parent and child that he would never understand.

"What's changed?" she asked, trying to avoid him but it didn't appear as he was listening.

“Why are you here?” She hated the tremor to her voice, that she was too weak to let go.

Many years of stress had replaced numerous strands of brown with grey. The corners of her mouth were drawn up slightly with love and acceptance. It was the smile of a mother. No amount of grief could touch the love that resided there. The grin never faltered while she held Scotty. I could see her love for him in her face as if it were the definition of love itself. I could see something else there too but I would not pin point it till I was much older. It was strength, the strength came from the necessity of her smile. It

We both walked down the staircase to find Faber and the group talking at the dining room table. Clarisse and I sat down with them.

“I known this is a tough time, Charles, but we have to stay positive,” Mother said.

Lucinda dropped her head and looked lost, deep in her thoughts. ' a lifetime of torment and redemption,' she stammered. There were a few moments of silence where Tyler started to pace up and down the bedside. He looked at Lucinda for a few seconds every minute or so as if he was trying to work out what to do, he suddenly stopped and looked deep into Lucinda's eyes once more. ' I can hardly believe I'm saying this

She began playing with the ends of her red hair which had already been brushed through, twirling the ends of it around her fingers. While Kyleigh continued with her hair, Cat looked up towards the picture on the wall. The twelve of them, ten years ago, with both their mother and father with them. She felt a sort of guilt and sadness puff into her stomach everytime she looked at the picture and her mother. Cat was five when she had died and nobody told her why. She'd ask Brandy, her second oldest sister because she was once scared of Kyleigh. Brandy had told her not to ask about her ever again and for ten years Cat never knew the reason. She felt sadness for she missed her mother, but the guilt always seem larged, to take up more room because she couldn't really remember Mother. She was just this woman with red hair and blue eyes who Cat resembled and when she had died, she watched her sister cry but she didn't feel anything. No tears came to her eyes but yet the puff filled her stomach and made her want to be sick because she knew she was doing something wrong, that she should be crying, so she forced herself to be sad whenever Mother was mentioned, which had now become rare, even none existant. She believed the guilt would go if she forced herself to be upset, but it seemed to have made it worse for somewhere in the back of her mind, Cat's brain always knew she was

The only sound that filled my ears was my keyboard clicking as my fingers raced across it. I had been procrastinating from finishing this assignment all evening, but I knew I needed to get it done. The burning sunset was shining through the windows as I was finishing up. It was a peaceful silence, until I heard the soft whispers of my parents that ignited my sense of curiosity. I was concentrating hard; doing my best trying to make out the hushed words that were being spoken.

"Damn it Chantie, give me my child!" she said as she sat up and yanked me out Chantie's arms, jolting me fully awake which caused me to fuss. My eyes peeked out at Claire from a opening of the soft cotton blanket that Chantie had hurriedly wrapped around me. She was pretty, not the most beautiful but quaint. Her blond hair stuck to her face dripping with perspiration. And her eyes, they were like a midnight blue. Her full pink lips parted into a smile. I loved her smile.