Essay on Creative Writing: Pain From the Past

The morning sun is hidden behind a desolate gray sky. The temperatures are nearing frigid, despite the fact it’s August: always a month of sweltering heat in the District. An ashy flurry started sometime between Madge and Gale’s conversation and when they both had woken up.

“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

And then, the day I had feared of most, finally arrived. We lost our father, the only figure I truly felt safe with. After months of mourning and painful transformations, our mother fell sick. In those terrible days, days during which I was locked in the basement most of the time, for my safety and even more: for the safety of my family, I was incapable of helping. To this, I regret even today.

"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.

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.

Sue froze where she stood, frozen for what must have felt like hours. “You mean, he waited all of this time to paint his masterpiece and not only did he paint it for me but – he used his life to paint it.” Sue was overwhelmed at the thought, she was the reason Mr. Behrman had gone out that night, she was the reason he had passed away. “I caused his demise, my own selfishness did this!” Sue cried. Johnsy quickly took hold of Sue’s hands and said to her: “No darling, you did just the opposite, you showed Mr. Behrman what he had been looking for, for these years. You inspired his masterpiece!” Understanding then that Mr. Behrman’s sacrifice for her, was no sacrifice at all, his dream had been fulfilled and he had continued his journey. At that

He wakes up on the cold, clean surface of a table rock. A rough candelabra flickers at his side as he stirs. Next to it there's three cut roses. Red. A look around and he finds he's in a cave. At the end of one actually. The air is mossy, thick. He doesn't know why he's here or how. Worse, he doesn't know who he is or who he was. He remembers this is called amnesia.

We walk back to the shelters to get some sleep, and I sit there awake for a minute until my father falls asleep. In the morning when I awake, my father is very sick, so I take him to the doctor. The doctor rejects to help because he is a surgeon. I take my father back to the shelter to let him rest some more. I leave him to go outside to get more coffee. I think back to all the things me and my father have been through. Losing my mother and sister will always reply through my head, remembering them holding hands and moving off to the left, and my father holding onto my hand, and we walking away from them. The last thing I got to do was just look into there eyes and turn and walk away. Once I got back I found my father not there. I knew where he had gone, they had taken him to the furnace. I dropped to the floor wanting to cry, wanting to have a fit like a normal teenager. Deep into his feelings he thought “Free at last.” He was free to only think about surviving, and not to worry about anyone but himself. I will miss my father. I love him. I will never forget how much he did for me, he is the reason why I am still

“Anything that can help us find out who did this.” I said, examining the crime scene. I walked towards what used to be the glass case that held the crown, but was now a useless, shattered cube.

A blue house, red shutters, and a white picket fence with a border collie. Three kids are running around in the front lawn up on a hilltop. That is what the American dream is right? The American dream is truly in the eye of the beholder. One might think that the American dream is an apartment in downtown Los Angeles, but others might want the smell of fresh cut grass in a small suburb. It’s whatever the person who is working for it wants it to be. As we can see in the play, all of the main characters might be striving for an American dream, but none of them are striving for their same American dream.

“John you know that using actual print will not give us the audience we seek”.

Sniff* "Mommy...Sniff* Daddy..." The lupine cried out as he laid down inside the beaten up box, wishing for his parents until someone started to shake the box. "L-leave me alone..." He whimpered to the stranger until the shaking stopped and two white hands reached inside and lifted him out of the box. "Hey there... Don't fret little pup I'm a police officer. Why were you in that box? Where are your parents? A white tiger asked with a gentle voice to the frightened pup. Jade noticed the police uniform and tried hard to calm down but failed miserably. "T...T-they are....sniff* There gone! T-there with everyone and left me all alone!" The lupin cried out loud, unable to hold back his warm tears. His breaths could be seen in the cold night air.

“AAH, I must have overslept!” The Hero rushed towards the window, and he saw that Monster Zero must have been busy for at least a few hours. He gathered all his weapons, and ran towards Monster Zero, somewhere where he could not be seen. “Alright, all monsters have a weak point, so where could it be……..aha! Monster Zero’s neck isn’t covered by any scales, so I must attack there!”

It’s December 17, 2002 ,5:46pm in Alberta, Canada there’s a bitter burning smell in the air as I return home to my mother. The long drive gives me time to think about the argument we had this morning and I’m full of regret of all the hurtful things we said. All because I didn’t want to discuss my father’s passing 4 years ago.

in a long black coat, stood a man – his eyes pierced her skin as he