Creative Writing: The Cold War

As John sat in the bustling coffee shop and gazed at the blank paper in front of him, beads of sweat broke across his forehead and trickled slowly down his face. How was he meant to write down what he was feeling when he couldn’t explain it? He knew his emotions were in there somewhere but he just couldn’t reach them. They were locked tight, stuffed somewhere deep down. He was comfortably numb and that was something that terrified him. It was as if the numbness was pulling him into a black hole. He was trapped, unable to get out. His thoughts were jumbled and out of sync. He couldn’t tell if what he was feeling was real. Was he capable of feeling emotions anymore? It was as if John was a ghost. Doing what he had to do

MRS HAWKINS: Well Jim missed you and I hate working at The Admiral Benbow, but it’s our only source of income, and so I am left with no option but to work here. I hope this will help Jim in the future. (Angrily) But you left me, how could you? And not only did you leave me, but you left your son alone in this big cruel world. Do you feel any remorse for what you did?

When Booker arrived at the dorm room, he found Tom curled up on his mattress, his face protectively covered by his arm. A heavy ache throbbed in the dark-haired officer’s heart and closing the door, he walked over to the side of Tom’s bed and sat down. His hand hovered over Hanson’s trembling body, unsure whether to offer comfort or let sleeping dogs lie. Tom was wary of contact, and he did not want to cause him more pain than he already had. Seconds ticked slowly past, and eventually his heart ruled his head. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his hand gently onto Tom’s side, but he quickly snatched it away when the younger officer visibly winced in pain. A deep frown furrowed his brow, and he rubbed an anxious hand over his lips. “Jesus, Tommy, are you okay?”

Due to an accident while working inside the mine, Jim still walked with a limp. Slate had bombarded onto his body, crushing his hip and breaking his leg. Grasping his leg, he slashed the flesh of his hand on the protruding bone. Fortunately, help arrived from the next room of the mine and the company doctor administered morphine while overlapping the broken bones. With his shortened leg and on crutches Jim had returned to the mine. For these reasons Jim fighting for higher wages and safer working conditions became his

Ouch! I woke up to a stinging pain in my left arm. The bandages I had on it seemed to be loose and were starting to come off. I guess I better get up and change them again... What a great way to start off the day already. I glanced over at my alarm clock, noticing that there was plenty of time until I had to go to work at the clinic. Once I get off my bed, I headed over to the bathroom to take a quick shower. After that, I changed into my usual clothes, and started wrapping bandages around my left arm. I looked into my mirror as I put on two bandages on each side of my face. For whatever reason, I usually found random injuries on any place of my body. Bruises, cuts, scars anything you can name. It's pretty annoying most of the time, but I guess I've grown used to it.

It was terrible, horrid, a painful dispute between a victim and the victims will to live. It's dreary wallow built up like steam building and building until it bursts, crashing, confessing it's terrible emotions to the moon. It saddened him deeply, sinking into him with all the heartache of loss.

Mary sat at the kitchen table staring out the window through the freezing rain at the old, rusty mailbox. It had been two weeks since her husband had left for Europe. The war was raging on and more men were needed, so her husband had joined the war effort. His final words to her were “I’ll see you again, my love.” She had read the paper that morning, and she was petrified.

It was a bright and sunny morning on September 1st of the year 2020. I felt the heat from that blazing ball of fire 92.96 million miles away. While it was mid afternoon I still did not want to wake up. But as the sun continued to fire off burst of light and heat, my bed began to feel more like a oven. As with any morning I put on the closets clothes to me. Before leaving my room I looked, well fumbled around for my glasses until I could find those thick nerdy things.Then my searching for my phone which was under tens of thousands of clean and dirty clothes mixed together. After wasting 30 minutes digging for my phone I felt the sharp corner of rubber and metal. Without hesitation I grabbed it out as clothes fell to take its place. When my morning

I have someone bringing me my stuff. You don't think that I would leave you alone to go nearly halfway across the castle to get ready do you?" He asked. Rennes sighed at the mention of the silk dress. "You know good and well Seraphine I do not 'play' with any of the servants. She tripped, started to fall and I reflexively caught her." He explained for what felt like the millionth time. He knew she was teasing him though, it was one of her little tricks that he allowed her to get away with. That or playing the total innocent and try and choke him to death with flattery. What he failed to say was that there was only one person he wanted to play with. It was one of the very, very few things he kept from her.

He carried on his with daily routine. He walked towards the back of the mosque, and entered a small, dim office. A desk stood in a corner of the dark room, and he struggled to switch on the lamp. The room lit up, and frames of newspapers became illuminated on the walls. He sat down slowly, careful not to upset his aching knees. He sighed, and looked over his desk. It was empty and bare of any items except for one framed picture. It was an old Polaroid photo of him and Amelia. He had insisted on taking it the night before he left, to remember her while he was at war. Every day for 2 years while he was deployed in Vietnam he kept that picture in his backpocket. Everytime he could not take anymore, when he lost his will to fight he took that picture out and remembered her,

His face looked so peaceful with the artificial moonlight casting shadows underneath his fluttering eyelashes. I hoped not to disturb him while I moved my hand towards the gun strapped at my hip. It felt cool and smooth against the heat of my palms. I took one more look at his chest falling as his breathing evened out and without hesitation I whipped out my weapon and pressed it against his skull. He jerked awake, his eyes wide and his pulse quick, and stared down the barrel of my gun. The voice that escaped the back of his throat was quivering with fear and desperation as he begged me for mercy. I stood unfazed, for I had heard it all before. After all, I was the one who had written all of his lines. When he finished his pleading, I recited

He cursed aloud before unintentionally releasing a round from the rifle into the air. The noise made James jump and fall back down. Those bullets sure had some power to them, he thought. His father quickly gathered him up from the ground. Whilst doing so it allowed for a close up view of his stages of deterioration. His corkscrew-like nose was losing more of its skin, as though it had been clipped multiple times with a hole puncher. Reality and despair couldn't share the same airspace within his shattered mind. One of them had to go, but he was at a loss at how to

Tom lay asleep on top on the covers, his body curled in the fetal position. Soft moonlight shone through the open curtains, the pale beams illuminating the whiteness of the bandages sheathing the young officer’s hands. A surge of pure love exploded from within Booker’s heart. Now was the perfect time to show Tom just how much he loved him; now was the perfect time to face his fear.

two kids; perhaps a boy with blonde curly hair and green eyes and a girl with dark brunette hair and brown eyes. Of course our marriage would be out of necessity rather than want. I’ve always loved Gus but in a sort of platonic friendship way. We both know things about each other that no one else but our parents know.

He grimaced at the vortex of sorrow: his life was becoming. There was an interminable amount of things going wrong in his life.He had ventured to find a way to get his life back on track, but even the most rigorous of ways failed to succeed. Despite many failures, his persistence had finally paid off; his old life began to molt and a new life began to