Creative Writing: Christopher Street

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.

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.

I felt my heartbeat rising every step I took as the blood rushed to the surface of my skin. My muscles tightened, beginning with my legs as if I could’ve ran fast enough to chase the truck. The image of the man and his words repeated many times in my mind, making me vulnerable to hatred. I thought I was doing something good and just. I was naïve. I thought everyone would gladly give us a helping hand. I looked at everyone around me, and I noticed it wasn’t just me that was burning with raged. I could see the anger in their eyes as they conversed with each other. It wasn’t until a loud voice snapped me out of it. “Do not show fear! Do not show anger! Our justice cannot break that easily!”

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.

I rolled my eyes, laughed and went back to thinking. That was the only good name thought I had in my head. I can't believe I was starting to going with an idea Emma thought of. Wait! Something popped in my mine. It was by far the name that Emma would go with that's not stupid. I looked up at her. She looked at me. Her blue eyes went back to normal. That's

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

Picking up the telephone, Margaret started to call Andrew to tell him about Officer Anderson. Glancing out the bay window, she saw a man walking down the sidewalk with two large dogs. Suddenly, one of them pulled on the chain, running toward the gate, barking and trying to get into the yard. Margaret rushed out to the front porch to see what was going on with the dogs. Noticing the neighbor’s cat sitting in the flower bed, she yelled for it to go home, but it didn’t move. The man yelled for the dog to come back.

“Ever since they were little girls Harper and Vanessa have been best friends. They learned how to read and write together, and learned how to ride their bikes together. They grew up together, and are almost inseparable. Of course, they get in little arguments because are they are like sisters. But, they always get over it.

Walking down 7 Boyden Lane, I feel the unevenness of sidewalk. Each step is different from the last. Trying to avoid twisting my ankle from one of the cracks, that is filled with rustic green grass. As I keep walking, I hear my foot slowly step down on a leaf. Making the sound of a potato chip being eaten. Advancing forward, I soon come to a new street, surrounded by massive trees that hover over me. Enabling me to only detect little specs of the clear blue sky up above. The smell of cow manure reminiscing the air. The sun beating on my shoulders, as I hear an immense truck start to approach me. Passing me it kicks up dust into the warm air, making it impossible to see twenty feet in front of me. All the sudden my hair starts to move to the

Neil Shi has lived in Newcastle for years now, but before living in Newcastle, he lived in Nanjing, China. Nanjing is a busy town in the east of China, a place that is packed full of people, a place where there are always cars on the road and people on the street. Nanjing is a big place, with many shops, houses and its own version of a city centre. Here, almost everyone lives in flats, and there are narrow pavements and small streets everywhere. Now Neil was only three or four when his lived there, but he visits Nanjing almost every year, and he remembers everything about the place. “I can still remember the last time a visited, going out at night to the city centre. Those were some excellent nights out, gawping at the toys in the windows

The bus bumps over the pothole as it turns out of the back parking lot of the carefully manicured Midtown Tech property and onto the congested, poorly maintained New York street, weaving deftly and dangerously through the dense, rush hour traffic. The bus carries ten high schoolers, a teacher, and the bus driver. It doesn’t take long for the bus to dead stop on their upcoming journey through Midtown and through Queens, and then deeper into Long Island for the team’s second decathlon meet this season, and the first they’re seriously preparing for.

As he stared down the dark, winding streets of London it was evident that he was in pain beyond imagination. His eyes were evidently engorged and it could be seen through the purple clouds around his eyes that he was close to losing all control of his senses. Blood was seeping from the deep hole in the upper right corner of his left shoulder, every sluggish step he took forward sent a searing pain through his nerves all the way to the wound, leaving no chance for the blood loss to halt. The cold rain was falling gently onto the gloomy road surrounding him but it bothered him not, the dangerously dark setting in fact paid tribute to his murky charisma. His head hung, long grimy hair falling over his eyes as he looked straight down at the aged

Okay, to get questions out of the way, this is more of something I'm doing to relieve myself of something that's been weighing myself down for a very long time. But, be that as it may, I'm interested in seeing who else realizes this as well, so that is why I am leaving this on public. Okay, to start with, the title. "Broken World". I chose that for the title to show potential readers what it is that I am currently trying to tell people what I see when I look at the world. I see it as broken. Some people do not, and I understand how that is possible. But, what the point I am trying to get across is to at least show or introduce some people to the issues that stand in our world at the current time that are ruining it and making it harder for

A few moments later, just as everyone was about finished with their cigarettes, Chuckles began to howl and bark frantically. He then jumped up on his hind legs resting his forelegs up against the border wall on the roof’s west end as he continued to howl. “What is it boy?” Lovienthal called out to him as he walked over to him to see what the matter was.

Although the conversation about the Los Angeles Riots were intense over twenty years ago, the topic still burns with relevancy today. My uncle, Antonio Franco Carbajal III, Born in East Los Angeles at County General Hospital on June 14, 1963 was raised mostly on Heidleman Rd in the neighborhood adjacent to Cal State LA. That is where his grandmothers lived and where he purchased his first home with his young wife and young daughter. He says “ I love my city, I am LA, it’s the best city.” He say’s he remembers the day of the riots, he went to his backyard and saw about ten fires blazing in the south central area of LA. He could see helicopters and hear sirens all night long. He says there was a sense of tension that was “So thick you could cut it with a knife.” He says he was always looking over his shoulder and in his rear view mirror while he drove his wife to work, which was located in an area very close to where the riots were happening. For safety precautions he decided a revolver was his gun of choice to carry, as he now changed his morning routine to escort his wife to work, this went on for a few weeks even after the riots due to the uncertainty of the situation.