Creative Writing: Mr. Cookie Man

“ I’m not sure son “ dad answered in the same tone , that was as much as we ever talked but I was used to it by now father was always quiet man .

Which was the reason why I hated Eros. I hated that I loved him. I hated that his one glance on me could lift up my mood instantly. For the last six years, ever since Mom and I moved to New York, I have been madly in love with the most unreachable guy in our school.

“Are you sure you still want to go on that Amazon trip” I asked my dad.

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.

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

Lionel Giverd was practicing his football one day on his team, and he suddenly landed on his arm he started to swear. He realized he would be in the cast for a while and he hoped he could make the team next year.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Finally someone said it. He turned towards the blonde and began begging him now; he was getting more pathetic by the second. "You’ve got to tell them we weren’t With you! this is a mistake!" The rest of us remained silent to his

You could feel the riot before you could see it. There was something else in the crisp early morning New York air, a certain electricity. A certain static that could only have been brought about by the winds of change. Even at three am the city is usually alive, but in these early Saturday morning hours Christopher Street was more alive than usual. However, it wasn't the normal flamboyant energy it had come to been known for. It was an angry energy, one that's only capable of being created by an oppressed group fed up with the constant mistreatment they've too long endured.

In January 1843 my fellow cop William Washington and I were just relaxing after and long and hard day on the job. All the sudden we get a suspicious call from a nearby home in Massachusetts. William and I grabbed our gear and went to investigate. When we arrived at the house, a lady answered the door and said that she heard a screech from her neighbor’s house. When we walked over to the neighbor’s house a young man answered the door and greeted us. When we told the young man that somebody reported a yell he said that it was his own from a nightmare he had. We ask him if we could search the his home and he hesitantly said yes. We searched all the floors of his home and William and I found nothing suspicious. We asked for the young man's name

The freezing snow and the black sky made my mind race. I was thinking out of my head. “I’m going to get hypothermia,” I said.

The silence begins again after the clanking of plates and dishes being passed around stops. Everyone is eating. Ten minutes pass and the chatter starts. As everybody has eaten the majority

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.

"Just share the cookie!" she sighed sitting on the couch. We both disagreed and began arguing again and after approximately 17 minutes our mother walked in yawning.

Bashir spoke, "Kind of strange for you to see your brother's death place. Now, I hope you know what you're doing. And if you need anything, contact me first. Good day, sir."

“Woah! Where are we!?” said Alto. “There’s so much snow; let’s run around in it!”