Creative Writing: Grillby's Narrative

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 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.

Have you ever lit your pants on fire!?! Thankfully, neither have I, but I did make a fool of myself in front of my entire class. All of my teachers and classmates know that I am a slow reader, but I usually never do anything wrong. That is why it became such a shocking and hilarious experience when I finally did something wrong. I learned the hard way, through slight humiliation, that you should always follow an instructor’s exact directions no matter the circumstance.

He felt a hand at his back and then Sigrid was pushing a cup of water into his hands. “Are you alright?” She repeated, anxiously.

The driver, Cecilia Blair, of vehicle 1 was traveling north through the intersection of N. State St. and Flint St. when she had a collision with vehicle 2. The driver, Jacqueline Muir, of vehicle 2 was heading west on Flint St. when she was struck by vehicle 1.

"Don't call me that" the redheaded man bite out hissing slightly at the pain in his back and thigh, Aomine noticed this so he changed his demeanour

“Obviously, can you HELP me up!” She then squatted down and helped me up. I rested against the bed as she spoke.

A pinch crept down the back of his neck and he rolled his shoulders. “I’m sure the bounty ought to help.”

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!  The slimy, pink puke squirted all over the house and started flooding the house. It was still squirting and it never stopped!

The burnt monster bot started to rise up from the ground, raise it right arm and begin to shake the ash off.

Interviewer:Thank you for actually coming here Randy. I heard you were once apart of the socs what happened.

Cady was faced with the question, how much would you pay to save someone you love? Who would you save?

My earliest experience with reading and writing were traumatizing especially when I was in the first grade. I still recall the experience I went through to this day. It made me really hate myself because the other kids were making fun of me.

His right arm that hung down by his side reached up and across his chest to grip around his left upper arm. It was so dark, but I could just make out that movement as he seemed to be in some kind of pain. “Too much. Way too much.”

Again, the dark laughter echoed in her head. Shit, shit, shit. She was so damn stupid, so bloody arrogant. In spite of the sunglasses she wore to lessen the risk of overstimulation to her senses, the lenses were no safeguards against the weighted stares of the people on the bus, and Tung wasn’t here acting as a buffer.