Creative Writing: My Trip To Louisiana

During my trip to Louisiana this weekend, I made plans to meet two of my friends at one of our favorite restaurants. The racial composition of the group was two black individuals and one white individual. We were having lunch and catching up when a white woman who was sitting nearby with her two children came over to ask if my white friend could watch her children while she went to the restroom. She never made eye contact with me or my other black friend and the question seemed solely directed to the white individual of the group.

We have been to this lake two years in a row and my family and I love it. We live about eight hours away from it so we stayed with my grandparent the day before we went to save some time.

Saturday night in Muncie there was definitely only one place to be. It was a little hole in the wall bar named Valhalla. This bar is amazing. It's small but has a wicked light and sound system that puts bigger clubs to shame. And the place was definitely filled up with others like myself trying to get a taste of the Hoosier Heavy that is the Muncie metal scene.

When they reach Estelle Louise’s driveway, Clemmy Sue eased the Ford into the entrance, and stopped thirty feet from her mailbox.

The Missouri River can be a wonderful yet terrible place. So much joy can be experienced from being on the river, but at the same time, so much destruction can happen. I have had both wonderful and terrible experiences on this river.

It is the final day in our year long voyage to the Hawaiian islands. “Land ho!” yelled the captain as we approach the island of maui the date is 1844,December,13.We make landfall as all the anshus sailors get ready to charge of the bout and towards the nearest solune before they can the captain yells we will refit our ships and supplies then be of for Japan.The captain estimated we would be here for a year because the ship was badly damaged from a storm on our voyage from massachusetts .As i step of the ship i can hear a familiar voice it was my brother James as we greet each other he explains to me that hawaii is not the lawless place that we dreamed due to the whalers before us.

Surely people do not drink orange juice with every meal. Yet every time I asked Pierre what he liked to drink he responded with the same delicate Floridian fruit: “orange”. I embraced Pierre’s unique preference of beverage by leaving a carton of orange juice at the table, which he delightfully indulged upon during breakfast, lunch , and dinner. After two weeks, Pierre and his abundance of vitamin C made their way back to southern France. Housing a foreign exchange student gave me a glimpse into the life of an adolescent elsewhere in the world.

As I hack away at chest high buckthorn I glance into the distance to locate the opening I've been waiting for. Finally, I have forced my way through the dense brush and onto a ridge above the glistening waters of the Bighorn River. The glare of lethargically moving water stuns my eyes as I cautiously make my way down the bank and splash my face with a handful of water. While maneuvering myself across the river I struggle to stay on my feet. I push forward and locate a flat and clear area ideal for my campsite. I reach a relaxing stop underneath a willow tree to provide pleasing shade during these hot Montana months. The sun's slowly starts to disappear over the distance mountains as my eyes gaze into the majestic star filled Montana night

The noise is much too loud, the screeching sounds of metal against metal. There is the scent of smoke, the fire burning everything in its wake. I start running towards the exit, dozens of others sprinting behind me as well. Everyone knows they did it—they being the group that ironically calls themselves “Freedom,” who find joy in terrorizing and patronizing innocent people. The government group, originally created to help improve equality rights, fell into a rut about six months ago, when a new leader came into power and completely brainwashed the members of the group. The entire country became a disaster in a matter of weeks.

A city layered in the ash of its own citizens. A city muddled and elsewhere, weeping as it toppled. Skyscrapers - gone.

John Taylor, a proud man living in new orleans, wakes up to what appeared a normal day. John had received a voicemail on his wide screen. Familiar with advance technology he quickly realizes it's an emergency alert sent by his uncle. The emergency alert read “ tropical Depression twelve formed a category 1 hurricane over the Bahamas at 5:00 pm EDT August 23, 2005.” If John wasn’t so tired from lifting weights last night he would have prevented the worst from happening. Instead he continues with his sleep

There I was in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana, watching as the humans pass by with large machines. Out in the distance I could hear a loud engine type sound and the soft cries of something. I would say about ten minutes later a huge “CRASH” shook the forest floor. It got super quiet for a few minutes then I heard “ Grab the chainsaw we’re going over here.” I turned to woody, my son, only a few rings old, and said to him “Son i'm not sure whats going on, but I want you to know that I love you very much.” He replied with “I love you to daddy” “Are they taking us away like they did mama?” I looked at my son with with tears in my eyes and said “Son, i'm not sure. Mom went to a sanctuary that was going to revive her and replant her where she was.” Woody looked at me and said “Night daddy, I love you, I am going to bed.”

It was a sunny April day in Brownsburg, Indiana. Iliana had just come home from school. She was so excited to share the news on how her day was but, little did she know that it wasn’t going to stay like that. “Mom, you won’t believe the day I had !” she blurted. Iliana spilled on and on about her day until sunset. That’s when her dad came home and they realized he was missing. Oscar, Ilianas’ thirteen year old brother. He had told them he had to stay after school but, never came back. So the Green family did what any normal family with a missing child did. They contacted the police, but got the usual answers.

I describe the location and the woman. I describe the multicolored feathers in her hat, and the way she seemed so at peace with the world around her; I described the mountains that seemed to stretch forever.

After the hurricane passed, I could tell Mama was distressed, yet she still managed to smile and say, “Te quiero mucho mi amor, todo va a estar bien.” The next morning, one of the doctors urged us to look out the window. I simply stood there, holding Papa’s sweaty hand, listening to the muddy waters from the Mississippi rushing in.