Creative Writing: Estelle Louise's Home

As soon as she shut the door, she realizes Clemmie Sue never replaced the broken window on the passenger side. She automatically searches under the seat, finds a large black plastic trash bag, a roll of bright orange duct tape, and creates a makeshift window. While she sits there shivering, glances around, catches a glimpse of a tattered bath towel behind the driver’s seat, and grabs it. Instantly, she begins to remove the moisture from her dress, which clings to her like Saran Wrap. All too soon she discovers three Mother of Peal buttons missing from the front of her dress and her fancy bun no longer fancy and her yellow satin shoes satin encrusted with mud. Using the towel, she removes the thick mud from her shoes. Afterwards, she pulls a bent safety pin, a broken comb, and several rusty hairpins from her purse and begins to repair what the storm had torn

“I be so sorry my friend, but this be about as close to your mailbox as imma gonna gets in this here mad storm.”

Clemmy Sue Jarvis since birth has lived in the rural southern town, of Wrongberight. One lesson she has learned from her many years of living there is that after four days of intense rainstorms, the roadways without doubt, will transform into a never-ending, slip and slide. Nonetheless, late Saturday afternoon, on the third Saturday in June, she has no choice other than to lift her petite frame into the cab of her rusty Ford pickup and let the hand of fate decide her destiny. She would not be facing a conundrum like this if she had not spent all week plotting her clever ruse for this evening. Instead, she would be sitting in front of the fireplace eating cabbage and cornmeal dumplings and not heading south on Flat Bottom Road along the

Clemmy Sue Jarvis a petite woman of sixty-three, has lived in the rural southern town, of Wrongberight her entire life. If given a choice, she would rather kiss Johnny Jackson’s jackass than venture out onto the roadways. Since, four days of intermittent rainstorms had transformed them into a never-ending, slip and slide. However, she had no choice. Therefore, around three in the afternoon, on the third Saturday in June, she eases her rusty Ford pickup out of her driveway. Moments later, she turns south on Flat Bottom Road and begins to follow it along the edge of the Dismal Swamp towards the isolated home of her dearest friend Estelle Louise.

Snow gushed its way into the breeze, targeting the Washington cabin that you and your friends resided in. You were standing next to Beth -- one of the Washington siblings that own the cabin. You released an inaudible sigh before resting your elbows on the window sill, focusing on the leaves that were blanketed within the snowstorm. You could practically feel Beth squint as you applied more pressure on the wooden sill, making it creak with age.

To ward off boredom while she waits, Clemmy Sue slaps the earphones over her ears, turns the CD player to full volume, and closes her eyes and begins to sing along with Dolly Parton. In no time at all, she fell asleep and when she awoke twenty minutes later, she begins to wonder why Estelle Louise had not returned. Therefore, she decides to drive over to the mailbox and check on her. Much to her surprise, the mailbox and Estelle Louise are not there. With darting eyes, she searches the area and soon discovers that Estelle Louise’s home is on fire. Panicking, she drives in a maniacal frenzy, up Estelle Louise’s slippery driveway. Within sight of the burning house, she slams the brakes, and the truck slid into the middle of Estelle Louise’s flowerbed and stops. Frantically, she dials nine-one-one, to inform them that a large, white, delivery box truck had driven straight through

Elise Davenport was not having a good night. Just the day before she put her whole career on the line thanks to a few glasses of champagne. Loose lips can sink ships, and they can obliterate your social status. So here she was, stumbling through Fairhaven Park in pitch blackness, looking for the cabin she rented. She'd just hung up the phone with her agent when she heard the rumbling growl come from beside her. Not a good night at all...

It was a cold December 10th morning, Mavis sat at her desk, looking over the case that was just set other desk, the court date was set for set for January 19th, nearly a month away. Mavis shuffled the case papers together and sighed, it was another of Zeref’s cases. “Lucy Heartfilia,” Mavis whispered as she looked over the papers, “The poor girl… She has been through a lot, why does Zeref have to put her through this…”

We got out of the car and the second I shut the door out came the Lopez family. She said to me “Theres no way in this entire world that I could do to repay you for raising this money to keep my family safe in a home that has secure walls and a door with a lock on it.” “Here i find myself thinking that if anyones life is going to be changed, its mine, and I'm so grateful for this opportunity” I replied. As the day goes on children from all over the community are coming over to the house begging us to play soccer with them, braid there hair, and take pictures with them. My heart was filled with so much joy Putting so much hard work into something and being able to say that not only did your hard work pay off for yourself, but it paid off for

She held the picture of Sam in her head. The white-hot center of her mind held the man immobile. Bewitchment. Sam stayed fixated, snared.

Marissa had been staying at Makayla's house for a little while. One night they got bored and decided to give Ben Dover and John Smith a call. Ben Dover suggested they meet up at the Coffee Queen. It was around two o'clock in the morning. Ben Dover got up to go fetch his phone which he left in the bathroom stall. When he came out Makayla was missing and the power had gone out. Everyone was freaking out. There was a note on the table saying,” Can you find her?” It had a picture of a red cross.

“It didn’t used to be this dreary, I swear to you it didn’t.”, she said this to the confused boy with a solemn look in her eye. It was as if she was looking for familiarity in the off white walls and the cold blank stares of the people around her.

The forest behind Aiden's house were thick, and stretched on for miles. Tall pines, maples, and oaks reached up from the ground, their green and scarlet tipped fingers scraping the sky. Green-gold morning light filtered through the dense canopy above his head, and a few early fallen leaves crunched beneath his feet. A lazy stream trickled its way through the tangle of roots and heavy underbrush, gurgling softly as it went; the scales of small fish flashing below its crystal surface.

Surely people do not drink orange juice with every meal. Yet every time I asked Pierre what he liked to drink he responded with the same delicate Floridian fruit: “orange”. I embraced Pierre’s unique preference of beverage by leaving a carton of orange juice at the table, which he delightfully indulged upon during breakfast, lunch , and dinner. After two weeks, Pierre and his abundance of vitamin C made their way back to southern France. Housing a foreign exchange student gave me a glimpse into the life of an adolescent elsewhere in the world.

Piliar then went inside to eat lunch, thinking she would discuss this map incident with Ruben later. By the time she reached there, Ruben has already spilled the beans about the map.