Creative Writing: Changing The Corner

One day, cutting through the swamp, David comes across the remains of old Indian souls and discovers a skull with jewelry still buried on the bodies. As David kicks at the skull, he hears a voice and looks up to see a black man seated on a stump just looking. The man, wearing a black sash around his body, has a soot-stained face, which makes it appear as if he works in some fiery place. David soon recognizes the stranger as the devil, the black man. Twenty years later we had a family reunion with all my relatives and they started talking about the fire.

“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 drive home was difficult; his vision swam and his muscles felt stiff and achy. Too bright city lights glared at him, pierced his eyes. His head throbbed, beat, beat, beat, in rhythm with his racing heart. Nausea rocked in his stomach and every noise seemed amplified. Why were these damn people driving so slowly? He needed to get home; he was already late as it was, and his father wouldn't be pleased. Leaving the glowing city behind him, Aiden found slight relief in the peaceful country roads and sharp peppermint smelling pines that surrounded his home, if you could call it that.

“Do let us go downstairs,” I pleaded to John. “There are such pretty rooms there.”

I comfortably drive my car into the desolate street, Perusing the deserted buildings, Smashes windows and rusted For Sale signs. The car locked up like Fort Knox. I observe the street for trouble. Two young boys look at me from afar as if I'm an alien. Do I stand out that much same greasy hair, expensive clothes, a smart car I suppose I am out of my comfort zone? “Mister, you don’t belong here” his hand gripped his switch. “Pony.... Ponyboy Curtis” I stammer “I live here or at least I did, I'm here to see two-bit’ The Boys turn around “geez his old now” the boy's chirp. The boys stroll away in awe that they saw the great Ponyboy.

I play football here at ULM and we have been in our fall camp for the last 23 days. It is a mental, physical, and emotional strain and tensions are running high. One day early on in camp we were out in the blistering heat practicing. We were almost finished when we called a screen pass and I was going to be the main blocker for the play and if I messed up it wouldn't work. Then as soon as the ball was snapped I stepped with the wrong foot first. This slowed me down and the defender was able to clobber our receiver behind the line of scrimmage. My position coach, Coach Clark, immediately ran over yelling, "What are you doing? Where is the direction you can't lose your man on that play?" I knew what I had done wrong, "I can't let him get up the

"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.

Girls perch on the tables like exotic birds gossiping and giggling, a football fly’s above their heads between two jocks in varsity jackets parading their toned muscles. Groups of high schoolers sit around the room laughing. Weekend has arrived and the hallways of the school were filled with tons of kids ready to go home. Every ear filled with the sound of multiple conversations going off at once, lockers opening and closing, music blasting without. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As I walked my footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of me in the cold ground. I saw my friends faraway chattering and fooling around. I was stuck in the wrong crowd; they are nothing like me but somehow I am still friends with them. I slowly made my way up to my “so called friends”.

I run out of the house and to the sidewalk. I breathe in the cold Yorkshin breeze. First stop is breakfast. Inserting the headphone jack into the phone, I smile the second time today as the music blares into my ears. I hum along with ‘Remember Me’ by Daley. I make way to the nearest convenience store. I pick up container of YanYan’s and a water. I pay and walk to the park. I sit on a bench, enjoying my breakfast and music in peace until a pigeon chirps its way over to me. I stop mid-bite.

Good. I touch the icon and drag it. Oh, it’s following my finger’s movement. Alright, let’s see… I drag it to the slot that indicates my right hand. Immediately, the bokutõ shows up on my hand with a quick white light.

“Anything that can help us find out who did this.” I said, examining the crime scene. I walked towards what used to be the glass case that held the crown, but was now a useless, shattered cube.

The next morning (Y/N) slowly woke up, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. She blinked a couple of times before looking around the room. She went to go get up before doing a double take, her eyes widening. Sitting in random places in her room were all of the characters from The Outsiders, at least all of the characters from Darry's gang. She tried not to start freakout, looking at everyone. They were just like she had imagined them.

It was a dark Friday night, the week before Halloween and Emma Harmen was walking home from work. As she turns down a dark alley she hears a garbage can tip over. Her heart begins to beat faster and faster, she quickly turns around to see what it is. When she looks she sees nothing but a small black cat. Emma continues walking, after a few minutes have passed on the wall of the building ahead of her she sees a shadow appear from the streetlight behind her. Emma is really spooked now and her heart is beating rapidly, and decides to pick up the pace. When she hears a strangers footsteps closely behind her she was now certain someone was following her. Emma is now sprinting down the dark alley when out of no where she is hit abruptly by a car that was driving insanely fast. When she awakes minutes later the most attractive boy was standing over her.

in my diary. “ so my mom talked to me yesterday and told me ____ was murdered. Shot. At first I did not know what to feel or even how to, I never got to fully know the kid. I am just angry, sad, and confused, I do not know how to feel. Maybe that's how I grieve… Mom told me not to tell anyone but I told Re before she got the chance. I am so hurt that he is gone and my dad is off his feet, I do not know what to do I'm scared I just hate guns. Re keeps asking me if I'm ok and sometimes I do not even know. He was a good kid he did not deserve for his life to be ripped away from him. So much has happened in these last two years I don't know whether to scream, laugh, or cry. I'm not trying to dramatic I'm just lost I feel lost. Who would do something like that?”

I can no longer remember what life beyond the front was like. I long for life and yet I cannot seem to find it. I yearn for the long days spent relaxing with my mind at ease. The days when adulthood seemed so far away, when growing up was not viewed as a problem. Life on the front seems so repetitive; bombardments come and go but never disappear completely. The barbed wire fence is the only object between us and the other soldiers. Bodies are piled on top of each other above the muddy ground. The corpses only seem to accumulate each day. The dry grass looks as if it had been growing without water for years before the war had begun. Yesterday, the enemies’ tanks approached our camp, destroying the barbed wire fence in the process. We retaliated