Creative Writing: Growing Up

“If you’re not making mistakes, then you’re not doing anything. I’m positive that a doer makes mistakes.” I agree with this statement, because everyone makes a mistake at least once in their life. All a mistake does is show that you are human. What matters is what you do with your mistake.

When she was finished, she knew what she had done had been awful. She stood up, did her curtsey, and slowly walked back to her seat. She tried not to cry as she felt every eye in the room fixed upon her, and as she endured the pain from some of the negative comments some people sitting

“It started again.” Berlin’s voice was small and weak. For a second the only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the fire. Berlin looked up at her. He could feel his eyes start to water. Berlin’s cheeks burned. He knew he it was pointless to cry at ten years old. This was the time when he was supposed to be brave, not scared. But he couldn’t help

A trickle of fear had her lying motionless with her eyes closed, straining to hear the slightest noise. A deep sigh of regret and the pressure of a body by her side made her acutely aware that she wasn’t alone.

“ Sometimes you need bad things to happen to inspire you to change and grow.”- Robert Tew.

When the going gets tough, I'm not always sure what you do. I'm not saying that I know how to fix everything when the going gets tough, but I do know this: when the going goes tough, you don't quit. And you don't fold up. And you don't go in the other direction. ~ John Madden.

¨If it doesn't kill you, it always makes you stronger¨. She told me her story about her family and She had to make a choice to stay or leave and she decided to leave for the sake of her son. That saying holds a lot of value to me

It was almost midnight when he tossed a log on the fire and excused himself to turn in. Lauren made herself comfortable on the cot, but she was afraid to sleep. The tears flowed then, a sad sense of loss and frustration.

Her strength seemed leaving her as quickly as the air became progressively thicker around her and heavier into her lungs. Despite her protesting muscles, she tried to shift one last time while her eyelids fluttered shut as she was laying helplessly on the bed, trapped and condemned to what would certainly be her last sleep.

URING a chilly night, in the midst of the winter season, Miss Maudie’s house caught on fire. This alarmed the whole neighborhood, as they rushed to go help put out the fire.

The smoky air stung her eyes almost as much as her tears did. The ground was hot through her jeans, though the chill of the coming fall was in the air.

Pale like her white blouse, she was looking at me with eyes widely open - eyes in which the flame had been extinguished. When I was almost

The fire from the stone hearth cast out its warmth. Arthur’s feet, still damp from a wonderful soak in water mixed with some herbs to relieve the aches, basked in the comforting heat. His elbow rested on the arm of the ornate chair, its high, straight back did nothing to relieve the aches in his spine. With his chin resting on his hand, his blue eyes reflected the glowing reds and oranges of the nearby flames.

Sky’s breathing was heavy as she dragged herself into her seat, blood poured from her newly broken nose. And her eyes glazed over, she welcomed the darkness; maybe this time she’d finally go home. Memories replayed in her head.

Suddenly she felt a stinging, then numbing sensation run up her legs and was strapped into a wheelchair. She was rolled into a very dark and presumably vacant room.