Creative Writing: The First Warrior

“I’ll never hit you in the face where it will leave a mark...” The words rushed in, taunting. The cold emptiness in the tone, like he was there in the room, whispering in her ear. And all at once, the fear was back. The raw fear that gripped her body like a vice and left her gulping in air. In a panic, she whirled her head around the room. She was alone. Relief flooded her, but the sickening butterflies remained. She gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white; outlining the jagged scar more prominently, and she fought to steady her breathing, blink back the tears, focus on something else.

“I want to know where they are and how many men are coming. Find out, and don’t fail me again,” He replied sternly. “In the meantime, what’s our plan from here?”

She helplessly watched in horror as the murderous bullet cracked as loud as thunder and ripped through the air faster than the speed of light, come in contact with his skin in a matter of milliseconds. A crimson red hole appeared on his forehead as quick as a lightning's flash, and slowly a trail of blood leaked from his wound down his face.

After saying goodnight to Simon and Magnus, Clary quickly shut the door to the library. The hallway was silent and still as the ocean tide, she had heard Lilian call for her just as her best friends in the world told her their goodbyes for the night. Magnus had conjured up a portal which would take him and Simon back to the village where they lived. Simon lived in a simple but modest house, on the outskirts of town, on a farm with his Mother and older sister. Magnus however, resided in a small, comfortable loft just above the local clothing store.

Corporal Walter Gordon was sitting up outside of his hole at the top of hill 303 the air was thick with soot and he could barely see twenty feet in front of him. Ringing filled his ears as shells exploded overhead, along with the screams of dying men. The enemy was on his front doorstep. While his comrades fell

“Stop!” he thunders, but it’s too late. The enemy, seeing you stand and run, has opened fire. You sprint for your trenches, forgetting the others exist, but you feel something smash through the back of your skull. There is a flash of fiery agony, then everything blazes white. But you still have time to see your friends fall around you. Dead, because you tried to

Drenched and frozen, only the warmth from their mothers’ kept the young creatures sustained. The trees’ limbs hung low from the weight of the swampy atmosphere; causing the joyous ambience of the forest to restrain her passion.

"Samuel's father is with them. He should be able to help while we help fight those things. Come on," he told her, pulling out a pistol for her to take. She grabbed it, putting it in her front pocket. "We have to inform the force."

You used to think the philosophy 'you only live one' is the most ridiculous excuse for justifying everything you've ever heard of - if you're meant to be reckless and live as fast as you can, 'there's a million and one ways to die' sounds much nicer. Explore them. Investigate them. Enjoy them. Cherish everyone of them, especially that split second between when you lean back in your chair and it hangs midway in air so close the the ground that the only thing you can think of is 'that is it.'

“Fine,” she looked up as a man with a scar running down his cheek smiled sinisterly. She didn’t trust him, she moved to try to get out of his reach but he pulled his arm out. Her eyes widened in horror as his fist came forward, she had stopped crying, watching the fist as if it was coming at her slowly. When it hit her face she barely registered it, it didn’t hurt, only stung and sent a shock through her body. Another fist came, then another. Her vision was going blurry, she heard them say something but she couldn’t make out what it was as her body fell limp against the seat and her eyes shut, unable to handle the pain in her

"Knock knock," I hear coming from the door. I open the door carefully to avoid alarming any other rebels at this hour of the night. Lincoln bounces through the doors with armfuls of food and supplies.

Margot said nothing, only rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut, falling upon her bed with sobs. The sobs did not last long as Margot’s mom came into the room. “What is wrong, dear?” asked her mom tenderly, caressing her daughter’s pale cheeks. Margot lifted her face, revealing her puffy red eyes and tear streaked

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

“Open that door and save th-” the general said while extending his hand with a key

“They look like me and people have said that he and I look alike. He loves those baby girls. To confess to him that they are not his would break his heart.” She looked around the room. “We have to realize that our confessions outside of this room would ruin lives and send some of us to jail.”