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.

They were going back and forth about my escapades. “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.

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

Tizbeth hesitated as she looked at the charred cat. It laughed. “Never thought I would come this close to being defeated and they choose to lose.”

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.

Crumpled newspapers scattered the table like the bones of dead bodies after war. Windows wiped down of memories huddled between oak frames, facing a street with cosy cottages. Single embroidered carpets hugged the floor, covering the marble tiles in delicate silk. A whisper of wind floated in through cracks of the panes of glass, whispering it's songs of misery throughout the house. I breathed in gulps of air, allowing the icy coolness to fill my lungs, and the morning frost creep out. My glistening blue eyes presented purple bags, and my sleek hair was a tangled cobweb. My feet dragged along the stone floor like the walking of the undead. I’d been up all night, searching and seeking for answers.

A silence fell over Cleo. She’d not given the outcome much thought. She knew it meant she’d have to become something more than a sister: A surget mother.

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

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.

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

Riley felt emotional while reading the letter from Roger. He didn’t know Roger could write an average letter for a young man who hasn’t been to school for about 2 years now. When Riley and Roger went to the same school back at Kennedy High School, they both had the same english class for all four of their years their. Roger wasn’t the best at english but on the other hand, Riley was fantastic at it. He was one of the top students every year in the class. But somehow, Roger would always end up in the same class level with Riley. Riley remembers when one time when every student had to write out a ten thousand word novel for the class. This novel was the final for that semester. Students were chosen to read a paragraph from their novel in front

“Please,” he whispered, and the words broke her: “Don’t throw it all away.” “Why are you here?” She hated the tremor to her voice, that she was too weak to let go.

Diana agreed to Gilbert's offer, and took a hold of Anne’s other hand, helping her up onto her feet. Gilbert stood as well, and when Anne wavered slightly he quickly rested a hand on her back to steady her. Embarrassment flushed Anne’s cheeks and she avoided his gaze, wiping her

"Oh yeah? Just like you didn't want to hurt my best friend?" She paused for a moment to think of Lacey and then regained her composure. "Or when you threatened Nikki to spy on me?"

June 8, 1944: Mary sat at the kitchen table staring out the window through the freezing rain at the old, rusty mailbox. It had been two weeks since her husband had left for Europe. The war was raging on and more men were needed, so her husband had joined the war effort. His final words to her were “I’ll see you again, my love.” She had read the paper that morning, and she was petrified.