Creative Writing: The Assassin

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.

The storm clouds were dark, gloomy and grim like a graveyard. They were near the surface of the earth. It was going to rain. They were lingering on. The soldiers’ uniforms were repeatedly buffeted by the howling gale. The sky was as black as a devil’s soul. A large boom echoed across the crimson battlefield as the lighting returned the thunder’s call. Endless calls for help could be heard. Then, the rain started pouring down, filling up the battle field, like a flood, as the constant sound of the rain pounding on the metal could be heard. Heavy boots pressed down on the wet mud, which would not be dry for the next week, due to the trenches. The trenches were six-foot-deep and reeked of dead bodies and human excrement.

“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

"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.

“Yes I am dad.” Kevin screaming at the top of his lungs,” Mr.Cromwell needs to go!” While Howie and Kevin argued ,Cromwell was over there eating Kevin’s breakfast, waffles. It was too late, Howie and Kevin turned around ,the waffles were gone.Kevin and Howie went straight over to doggy daycare. Cromwell had stayed 1 hour knowing he wanted to leave.

Shadowy clouds hover over No Man’s Land, they were all fed up with the war, the lives it had already claimed, the unburied dead and the smell, oh my god, the smell. Life in the trenches was unbearable, cold, muddy, vermin and parasites that consume your skin for food. Every man entombed in the trenches dreaded the day they would hear the whistle, the whistle to move forward into No Man’s Land.

Against the bitter front lines, men hold onto their rifles like it is the only thing left in their life. Their boots slosh and stick against the broken down earth: mud. Eyes are drained of life, their sockets deepening and sinking into their face as if they were the living dead. Some men get the blessed time of sleep, a holy pull into the deep and sugar coated dreams. Life amongst the trenches is no easy task.

Our trenches are deep and at regular intervals along the trench a firing step would be positioned so that the soldiers could stand on it to see over the top of the trench and fire a weapon into "no-man’s land". Some would ‘go over the top’ and sacrifice their life because the trenches were regularly flooded, and we sleep in such inhospitable conditions. Corpses of colleagues once living, scattered around the trench, would pass on diseases as well as bring parasites such as lice, maggots, fleas etc. But even though our life is in ruins, it is better to take your chances in the open than stay barricaded inside. If you’re blown up, you’re blown up. But, its better to die than be like inexperienced new recruits who get amputated legs, shot, and are thrown in a ditch.” A young soldier wrote this extract in his diary hoping that one day it would reach his family. He talked nothing but torture about how the way war life was treating him. The dead were unburied as the shells covered them; the honor they were suppose to receive was all talk; the cigars they had all ran out; and most of all, the feeling of returning home never left a soldiers mind.

Additionally, Sheers reinforces the preciousness of human life and the violence of war by using language features that include verbs, imagery and metaphors through, “This morning, twenty men buried in one long grave, a broken mosaic of bone linked arm in arm, their skeletons paused mid dance-macabre.” The metaphor of ‘broken mosaic’ highlights the violence and impact of war. ‘Broken’ alone suggests that the soldiers were blown to pieces by the Germans. Sheers however, described these fragmented bones in a respectful was. This was respectfully described as a ‘broken mosaic’ because the 38th Welsh Division soldiers went to fight for their country and unfortunately died because of it. As a reader, we must understand that they sacrificed their lives to fight for their families, friends and country when they went to war in the Battle of Somme. Referencing to ‘broken,’ it also tells us that they families of the soldiers were mentally broken as well. The Battle of Somme tore families apart and broke parent’s hearts. Sheers wants to imply the knowledge to the reader that violence of war impacts many other people including the soldiers themselves. It damaged the families of the 38th Welsh Division soldiers. Although war has ‘broken’ each soldier a sense of brotherhood is shown through the verb ‘linked’ in, ‘linked arm in arm.’ All these soldiers went to fight together and happen to have died together. This shows the strength of mankind and unity through tough times as these men were

We picked up guns and bullets from the men that we killed. They were spread out and unprepared. We bolted down the street; most didn’t even see us coming. At one point our group of thirty soldiers encountered a few that had taken cover in a nearby neighborhood—not far from where I lived. We exchanged shots for a while before suddenly hearing the sound of rifles as their shots died out. We looked up to see from the windows above, people with hunting rifles, helping our cause. I looked up the street to see my mother and father, with a few windows unbarred, each had a rifle in their hands as well.

For several days in succession fragments of a defeated army had passed through the town. They were mere disorganized bands, not disciplined forces. The men wore long, dirty beards and tattered uniforms; they advanced in listless fashion, without a flag, without a leader. All seemed exhausted, worn out, incapable of thought or resolve, marching onward merely by force of habit, and dropping to the ground with fatigue the moment they halted. One saw, in particular, many enlisted men, peaceful citizens, men who lived quietly on their income, bending beneath the weight of their rifles; and little active volunteers, easily frightened but full of enthusiasm, as eager to attack as they were ready to take to flight; and amid these, a sprinkling of red-breeched soldiers, the pitiful remnant of a division cut down in a great battle; somber artillerymen, side by side with nondescript foot-soldiers; and, here and there, the gleaming helmet of a heavy-footed dragoon who had difficulty in keeping up with the quicker pace of the soldiers of the line. Legions of irregulars with high-sounding names "Avengers of Defeat," "Citizens of the Tomb," "Brethren in Death"--passed in their turn, looking like banditti.

Good. I touch the icon and drag it. Oh, it’s following my finger’s movement. Alright, let’s see… I drag it to the slot that indicates my right hand. Immediately, the bokutõ shows up on my hand with a quick white light.

They call me a shadow an evil spirit of the dark and the one with no face just because no one ever seen my face trust me my not a bad person my just trying to make my cut in life see I wasn't always this bad I just didn't grow up killing for cash I was trained by the world's most feared assinas they showed me how the shadows we're you friends and how to yours them as cover see my different from every other's assienas I was born with a gift that let me move so fast it look like i vanished and I could feel sound waves which help when my target was behind an object and it could make me feel like time slowed down with this ability I could shoot a sniper and never miss my target at age of eleven I was in the field racking up kills

his body remains uneasy as she doesn’t loosen her grasp, eyes flickering from it to her. something’s not right maybe she’s EXPECTING to be threatened. waiting for a villain to come and harass her. he wants to ask, but he recalls her previous statement. an uneasy breath is drawn in, feet carrying backward another step. “ it makes my anxiety way worse if you’re actually curious. ” that’s the truth. the agitation melting off of the girl has his heart soaring. it isn’t fear it’s distress. the unknown never treated him kindly. “ late night walks are more of a compensation for … well, everything else that comes with it and sucks. ” confidence in his plot brims as he wipes sweaty palms