Creative Writing: Is It Worth The Cause Of Death?

It was the year 1996 in the month of June, I will never forget that month and year because it

The world is on fire. I crouch in the small interior of a vessel. Watching in disbelief as everything burns. I shall tell you what I know of how this tragedy came to be.

“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

He turned to the streets, begging for scraps of food or clothing, trying to find some way to support himself. Those years of his life had seemed like a dark abyss in which he was trapped. He could see the sunlight above, but he had no way to reach it. He still remembered the looks of disgust and fear upon people’s faces as he crawled to them and begged for help. They would pull their children closer and cross the street as they neared him, or walk straight past him with their eyes fixed ahead, unfazed by his pleas. After some time, he lost hope. As the rich merchants and fine clothed women passed, he said nothing, curled up in a ball on filthy, tattered blankets, starved and cold, flea bitten and depressed. He had feared for a time that he was on the brink of insanity, and had taken to talking to the stones on the street to while away the lonely hours. He remembered hoping he would simply pass in his sleep during the night to escape his never-ending

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.

Dementia. The degeneration of the brain and its propensities: brain cells deteriorate, weaken and die. The disease impacts an individuals thinking speed they become incoherent and struggle with their day-to-day memory. Aside from the sufferer of this destructive disease, it drastically impacts the people closest to them. We were all victims.

Sickness is spreading fast in Pennsylvania.I do not want my mother or daughter to catch it. My husband died of yellow fever 2 years ago.My daughter will be staying with sister in Baltimore Maryland.While I was there I met a nice young lady named Asiah and we agreed to travel to Oregon with me and my mother.I am bringing $700,a sewing kit,and a cooking kit with me.My mother has agreed to drive the wagon.

One of the reasons the narrator says he holds a fear of death is because he would no longer be able to see the face of a beautiful woman and have the chance to be loved by her. The image of this woman is created when Keats says, “ And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, that I shall never look upon thee more, never relish in the fairy power of unreflecting love,” (Lines 9-12). These lines show a sense of wishing to belong through the longing for love from this woman, and this wish creates a fear of dying before there is a chance of it coming to be. Another reason for the narrator’s fears is missing the chance of gaining fame before dying and, instead, his remaining time being wasted alone. The image is created when Keats says, “Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think till love and fame to nothingness do sink,” (Lines 12-14).

unclear why she writes so much about death because she had not experienced death close to her

King shrugged. “Well that's an unexpected thing to say to me, I didn't ever swear to be your partner in whatever your life long plans were.”

The first time I saw her she was perched on my chair at New Westview High in the English 11 classroom and was twirling a luxurious pair of earbuds around her elegant and slender fingers wrapping them around like whips. Lethal. Pestilent. Yet still there was something about her that was bewitching. She screamed anguished closures and shredded promises. Back then I just had a feeling. One of those nauseating, petrifying feelings but almost addictive when I went near her. She had these black and red beats that were colossal compared to her meagre face but she didn't seem to mind. They kept slipping off her sleek, smooth hair. Why would she have earbuds and headphones? Like what an idiot. Her fingers and feet tapped out the rhythm on the floor.

If you were asked to imagine a world without touch, could you? I’m sure I couldn’t have, not before 2035 when antibiotics became defunct that is. Since then no one has had any interaction with anyone or anything; we’re all far too worried about infection. Think about it: no hugs, no stroking your pets and definitely no going outside without all your protective clothing. And then a new virus gripped the earth, infecting all of us. We called it virus-T.

Instantly, Maria felt an odd feeling swell up in her chest—a feeling that the miserable little orphan girl had never before felt. It was a feeling of warmth—not a warmth from the air that leaked into her cold body, but a warmth

I was taken up, put in a chair at the side, and told to keep my mouth shut by the teacher, who

The speaker in the poem comes to the realization that death is inevitable and she is not scared of it, rather curious as to what it will be