Creative Writing: The Fertile Dutchy

It was February 23, 1939 Austria a young adult was taken away from his home and his casual day to day life. The second world war. Was taking place. We were swarmed into the streets and being taken out. People in confusion as to why these German soldiers are constantly yelling at us

Sunlight leaked from the small hole in the wall. Unlike the ridiculously good weather, ear piercing- screaming, devastated crying and wicked laughter caused goosebumps on Soon-Young’s arms. She lazily rubbed her eyes. Her whole body felt sore- her muscles ached painfully each time she attempted to stand up. Soon-Young blinked her eyes. She wished that she was experiencing a vivid hallucination after what she saw. She realized she wasn’t in home.

The smell of heated metal in this confined room started to clear my sinuses. As the temperature rose higher and higher, I felt my nose hairs slowly start to shrink and dissipate. As the walls crept closer and closer I realized I was being pushed to my death. The walls were closing on in on me and were forcing me to go in the only direction I didn’t want to. As I felt the heat of the walls start to slowly toast my back, I slid off the ground and into the abyss. As I held myself on the side of the pit for dear life, I find myself fixated on the hell laying below me, unable to avert my eyes. I looked around. Nothing. I looked at the sliding walls. Smooth as ice. There were no windows, no doors. I looked at the ceiling, there was no sky. I looked

A dark and smoky gray night fell over the green grass. An old lamp at the end of an overused power cord of a wooden pole was swinging in the wind. It lit up the surroundings of the construction and printed my moving shadow on the wall behind me. In the half-light of dusk, I walked out of the ruins that minimally protected me from the wrath of the RPF and showed my face to a fire-breathing dragon. I walked into a thick and wet mist that linked up with the wind to whisper ghostly oohs in my ears. I was scared and my legs trembled. Under the dim light, I could not see anything. The smoking of the war clouded the roof of the region and the cold breeze spread an odor of blood and brought the moans of dying people. The dense haze covering my vision

named Hollands Cove. Almost as if it were a secret the entrance to the community the roadway lies bare. A small dirt road with two fields on either side are backed by trees, small bushes, and a slight glimpse of a gray decaying haunted house. However during the early summer if you drudge through that field of tangled weeds you would find the bushes lined with juicy summer blackberries that stain your fingertips.

There was a Giraffe named Harambe and it had a little bit of gorilla in it but he did not know that yet so Harambe was living a normal life of a Giraffe just like all of them. So one-day Harambe was walking through the thick forest it was as green as money and harambe were looking for some good leaves to eat. he was not paying attention and wandered into gorilla territory and they went wild then this gorilla came out of nowhere and she looked familiar but she ran away Harambe decided to follow her when he caught up with her she was super shy and Harambe said: “You look familiar.” “Do I know you.” surprisingly she said “Yes.” I do not know where from but she knew me and out of nowhere she said: “I am your mother.” I was so shocked I ran all

A long long time ago Little red riding hood was told to walk to her grandmas house to give her some aspirin to make her foot ache go away. She has a day to get to grandma’s house and then a day to get back, so all in all she has two days to get there and back if she isn’t back in that time her mom will send out help to find her.

It is the year of 1944. The Franks and the Van Daans have been living in the Secret Annex for almost two years now. Two years of hiding, where it was normal to not be outside for a very long time. It was quiet, like usual. The Franks and VAn Daans were sitting around the Annex when they started to hear footsteps. It shook the whole Annex and the people inside were shaken to the core. Mr. Frank knew. He knew that THEY had found them.

The man in the picture is heavily concentrated on whatever is in front of him at the moment. It is difficult to tell if he is concentrated on what is actually in front of him or he is desperately trying to distract himself from his problems in the first place. I can see the anguish in his face as he puts his arm down on the ledge of the building. The man is wearing a thick leather coat, it seems like it is the middle of winter. He is trying to protect himself from the cool scopes deep down and the chills all throughout his body. He looks like he needs to have a couple moments to himself and try to get his mind cleared by moving to the roof of the building, and try to get a different atmosphere. He looks like he just want to be alone.

“I, the great Nag, am here because I want to rule the garden and kill you,” Nag responded.

As a warm spray of water flowed over Booker’s battered flesh, the heat helped to soothe the pain radiating throughout his abused body. With a drawn-out sigh, he tilted his head forward and concentrated the steady stream over his aching neck muscles. He had spent the last three hours on his hands and knees, succumbing to each and every one of Holland’s humiliating sexual predilections, the aftermath of which had left him not only feeling demoralized but physically bruised and bleeding. However, despite the degradation he had endured, in his mind, it had all been worth it. His seventy-two-hour ‘contract’ with Holland was complete, and once showered, he would collect his recompense and put the whole sordid experience behind him. He was looking

The English wing is an empty corridor, ten feet wide, both sides lined with sheet metal lockers enameled in beige. The lockers stand in silent ranks, punctuated by occasional indentations: beige doorways leading to beige classrooms. Fluorescent lights flicker wanly down at beige linoleum tiles. A bell rings and the silent scene comes to life: doors swing open and teenagers fill the hall, a flood of color and sound in bright sneakers, blue jeans or leggings, sweat pants or skirts, plaid shirts, tee shirts, or hoodies, carrying backpacks, water bottles or coffee cups, smart phones, some plugged into their own soundtracks and moving purposefully, others strolling in small groups, or standing near doorways waiting for friends.

Then I said, "You’re yellow." He responded, "I think you better stop right there or I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson." This kid couldn't possibly beat me i thought, "You and who else?" Another snide comment caught in my throat as he hurled me to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He wasn't as weak as I assumed, but i only dropped because his attack caught me off guard. Meursault tried a pathetic attempt of a truce, offering me his hand. What kind of man did he think i was. I couldn't let the fight end here, so quickly. I mustered up my strength and jumped up, kicking him there on the ground. He kneed me and got some lucky punches in. My face bled a bit, nothing too serious. He asked me if I had enough, examining his hand carefully to search for any injuries. Grudgingly i said yes, knowing I could have won if i was more prepared to

It was the 20th of March, the threshold between winter and spring. Like a prima ballerina twirling in swirls of gauze, tulle, and lace, the spring wind chased through the air, peeking around street corners, whistling through leafy tree branches, ruffling the hair of briskly walking pedestrians and with the same melodic bursts of grace and exhilaration, the breeze whispered its decree of a new season, of gentle sunlight, velvety grass, and vibrant flowers.

And so he shows Sendak, who barely flicks through it all before bringing his fingers to his temples, massaging them roughly. Squints at Lance with those dead, festering eyes.