Creative Writing: Malcolm's Home

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.

“No I am perfectly fine thanks. But really I was in the upstairs room of the building you know and there was a mirror and a monster and…”

“It’s ridiculous we haven’t made an effort to visit each other,” he says. I nod, and a dangerous desire to fall into his arms overcomes me, inappropriate under the circumstances. So as a substitute, I drink the rest of my water. He proposes to show me the guest house, and takes my hand. We walk through the dining room to the kitchen. The décor of each room has the influence of the Arts and Crafts style of William Morris with Trellis wallpaper, and oak furniture with wood inlay and brass.

“I forgot. Your mother was in your study the night I invited them for dinner. She came in here to have a talk with you. You were slightly incapacitated, at the time, I believe.”

Laurel nodded her head when she heard that Zinda would be willing to aid her in her efforts of keeping the city running smoothly. “With that attitude I think Ryder will love you.” She stated with a small laugh, her head shook from side to side. “Even before the outbreak I always had a hard time sleeping.” She reached her right hand up and placed it against the back of her neck, rubbing at it. “So it really doesn’t bother me all that much.” She nodded her head. She knew what Zinda said was true, that she should try and sleep more but that seemed easier said than done. She really tried to sleep at night sleep just seemed to elude her, it was never there when she really need it. Like the night they got back from the Farmhouse, all she wanted to do was fall asleep and forget the whole events that had taken place there. Sadly that didn’t happen, she stayed up all night thinking about how she could have done thing differently, that she should have stayed with Kate.

After John harnessed the team to the wagon, he, Charity, and Charles loaded Uriah into it. She and Charles then headed to town with him. She left John and Martha Jane to watch over the younger children, with strict orders that they had all better be on their best behavior until her return. John was nearly twelve; she figured he ought to be capable of watching the little ones.

Drenched and frozen, only the warmth from their mothers’ kept the young creatures sustained. The trees’ limbs hung low from the weight of the swampy atmosphere; causing the joyous ambience of the forest to restrain her passion.

If he had been human, everything would have been easier. Hal's life would have been so much better; he wouldn't have been forced to fight, or be controlled by the code in his head. He would have grown into a different, maybe better person. But then, they would still be stuck in the compound, still there when the bots had malfunctioned, and they may have not even escaped. Perhaps they would have died an untimely death and not have escaped into the wastes and would be left to rot in the desecrated compound, forgotten, and the only sign they were there were their desecrated skeletons, and even those would be ground away by the sands of time until they eventually became nothing. It was a pity that they would meet that fate regardless; Dirk would

It was unclear what exactly woke up the small elf, maybe the unfamiliar sounds of horse hooves against the ground, maybe the bright sunlight shining through the sparse forest, maybe the motions of the carriage from the uneven terrain, or some divine forsaken mixture of the three. When she attempted raising her arms to shield her eyes from the harsh light, she discovered that they had been bound together, and rather tightly at that. 'Great,' she thought to herself.

“The sea and the sky are the same,” uncle always said. At the time he had laughed, but looking out that morning; the cold sea mist clinging to my clothes, I knew he was right.

It was dark when I arrived at the village. People were going about their nightly chores before they retired for the night. They quickly escorted me to the wigwam of a woman who was in labour.

Finger agitatedly on the trigger, Robert rolls his rosary from finger to finger. As the thunderous winds vertically hit the fixed wings of the helicopter the soldier’s unease escalates. Swiftly the aircraft approached the drop zone and the glimpse of the dense Vietnamese jungles became clearer to the soldier. The fear of death increases the flow of adrenaline in the soldier as he rappels down the rope alongside the two veteran comrades. Touching down, the damp earth swallows the soldier’s boots. The aroma of smoke smashes the oxygen in the air, heading from the jungle.

On August 21, 2015, a suspected terrorist walked shirtless out of a bathroom on a train traveling to France. He was carrying an AK-47, a pistol, a box cutter, and lots of ammunition and he quickly began firing at the people on the train, wounding several. The incident soon had the look of a horrible mass shooting in which there would be dozens of casualties, but then, three American friends and a British man attacked the gunman. They tackled him to the ground but the gunman got out a knife and began slashing at the men, wounding one of them. However, the hero’s on the train choked him into unconsciousness. The total time elapsed was less than 90 seconds.

Anxiety ripples through my body for weeks; before I know it, it is the day of the ‘mystery trip’. Apprehensively, Hanna and I approach the dilapidated building, which worries me, due to the fact that it looks exceptionally abandoned. From the skies, gargoyles peer down at us, their stone dead eyes carving into me. On one side, two windows are smashed and unadorned white drapes dance in the gentle wind. Furthermore, the hefty door looks to be hanging from its hinges. This trip is definitely no luxury trip.

"Daddy!" Clary's voice echoed into the ebony, still night, as she rode into the familiar, dark forest. The wind whipped through her fiery red tresses, creating a halo of crimson waves which flowed gently down her back. But the only mere answer/sound she received back was the mere echo of her own voice. The air was strangely still, and silent as glass, yet very frightful and stagnant, and it filled her heart and soul with the utmost dread. The only sound that she could hear beside her voice were Wayfarer's loud, excessive whining. "Daddy!" she called out once again, as her father's horse continued to spin around in circle's.