Creative Writing: Lukas's Narrative Fiction

The forest had gone.... and the Witch looked much younger. Audette opened her eyes and had found herself upon a brow of white lilies. The shape of the shrouded old woman seemed changed. Having turned around, and opened her mantle to the tearing gusts, Meliza revealed to the young lady two streams of shinging blackness and smooth white flesh. Audette stopped in her tracks.

A fortnight passed, and Percy and his siblings spent extra time with Will. After coming close to losing him, they all got along better than ever.

As Jack drove through the streets of outer city Melbourne, he couldn’t help but notice that Phryne had barely said a word since pulling away from the Stanton Manor. He couldn’t be sure as to what was plaguing her, but he inferred that it would either be about Lord Stanton hiding something from them, as Jack was thinking or was concerned about her daughters. Jack glanced over to Phryne and he felt like he needed to do something. He wanted to reach across the invisible boundary and take her hand in his. He knew it wasn’t much in the mind of comfort, but he knew that sometimes a held hand was all that was needed.

“Of course they are! I already told you and the others that Axel and Larxene have liked each other since 5 years ago. I know Larxene looks terrifying and likes to hit Axel a lot, but I can see that he's truly happy; he's serious about this relationship. All we need to do now is wait for the marriage~” The ravenette grinned, happy to know her brother had also found his true love.

Denny O’Callaghan woke to see bloodstains on his pillow, his bedsheets. He closed his eyes, groaned and rolled over. Maybe, he figured, he could fall back asleep. Blot out of his mind what he’d just seen. But the back of his head throbbed. He touched it and felt a bump the size of an egg, and his hair was sticky and matted there. His throat was so dry. He coughed. Blurry memories, specters nearly, from the night before flitted about in his mind’s eye. Vaguely shifting images. Incomplete. He’d been drinking tequila shots with the guys from the firehouse. Yelling. And then—nothing. He hoped if he kept his eyes closed long enough, maybe it would all go away.

As I fly back home from Alaska, I think of all my all my adventures I’ve had so far. I feel amazing that I finally finish and will be returning to my dogs, my home, and most importantly, my sweet wife. I missed her so much over the past two weeks, I can't wait to see her again.

“Just a little one cuz we still have to get out before New Years.” Axel said

“Well, you haven’t met my brother. Think army guy, but with this hidden soft side that just makes all the ladies swoon. He probably has more books on adoption than you have in this whole store.” Gilbert let out a groan.

“Did you figure out anyway to beat them?” Epsilon asked. “I’m sure those manifestations have some kind of weakness.”

I probably just seem like a normal, dumb teenager looking to draw you in with a made up story, just to get a rise. Just to get a few minutes of attention. But my purpose here isn't to make you want to read my story; honestly, I couldn't care less if you stop reading after this point because you think this is all made up stuff. But who the hell would make up something as elaborate as this? Actually, I take that back. A lot of people could fabricate a story like this, probably a better one to be honest. But there's no way I can convince you that I'm telling the truth. I just need to get this story out. So keep reading, or don't. I really don't care.

There are many rises and falls in the story A Manual for Cleaning Women. There are emotional bursts that have readers aching for the narrator and there are variations with the sentences that correspond with how we are meant to see and know the protagonist. The diction, however, stays mostly the same. All of this makes the story seem true. This does not mean true in the non-fictional sense, but truthful in the way that this could be a real story about a real maid who is struggling with depression, loss, acceptance, and her own alcoholism. In John Gardner’s craft book The Art of Fiction, Notes on Craft for the Young Writer there is an entire chapter dedicated to truth. And really, fictional truth is tied into every chapter in the craft book because it is that important. Gardner obviously has much to say on the topic and a lot of what he says pertains to Berlin’s fine work. For example, page 91 states:

“We’ll see,” he finally says, albeit begrudgingly. Kennedy beams, and Finn smiles back reluctantly, seeming annoyed that she was able to make him smile.

Salzer continued to monitor the 'new and very much improved' Goldstar's progress as she finally found the doors to his lair. He had kept the doors to his project laboratories in his latest base inconspicuous to keep the now mentally-deficient (or, as far as Salzer was concerned, mentally efficient, with her mind nearly empty of all shit that was unnecessary for her now, instead mostly filled with important things...for a living sexdoll, at least) Goldstar from finding and wrecking them, and that seemed to have worked flawlessly. He thoroughly enjoyed watching her mega-tits swing like wrecking balls as she turned in place quickly, and he snorted with amusement as she was momentarily distracted by her own properly-pretty hair. But then she then

As Lance descended into the sewers, the metal bars that barely passed for a ladder did nothing to improve his mood. The rubber tread on the bottom of his leg kept catching awkwardly, causing him to jolt and nearly lose his grip. He jumped the last couple of rungs, landing on the cement platform with a dull thud that echoed around him. His leg popped in protest, and Lance reminded himself to be gentler on his prosthetics. He didn’t need them breaking on him.

At 11:03pm Edgar left to go on his daily run. He jogged around the block twice, body drenched in sweat. His stick like, hunched over figure doing the best it could. Edgar always made sure he didn't stray too far from his house and precious possessions. Since no one else was out at this time of night, it was sublime for Edgar as he wasn't a people person.