Creative Writing: The Hellen Rose Inn

I went to Geneva on the Lake and had the most lively time there. First we went to the beach and rummaged through the sand with sifters to find beach glass which was so much fun. We then went to this rundown building with old antiques and knick knacks, and some of the things were shuddersome and freighting. After we went through some more buildings we went to get some food which was really appetizing. Lastly it was time to leave which was hard because I had so much fun there.

Sunshine was pouring out from in between the buildings, casting shadows all around Ponyboy and the gang as they walked to Pony’s school. They were taking their time walking down the streets and for the first time they all were really seeing what was all around them. Memories were surfacing in their minds showing them what it all meant to them. With every step they took on the sidewalk they remembered a different memory as if they were walking down memory lane. Ponyboy didn’t think it was possible for him to be walking down this street for the last time as a high school student, but he had gone through the years with great grades that earned him many scholarships.

I never knew the Smokies were so close to my grandparent’s retirement village. Every summer all the cousins jammed into Grandpa’s Ford for our jaunt up the mountains. But back then the hills had no name. They were recognized only by the pop of our ears and the pink silk trees bowing down to the highway. Since those days I have grown partial to any patch of grass with “National Park” tacked to its title. Today the mimosas still tossed their petals to traffic, and the truck remembered its ever-present perfume of damp golden retriever. But today we were going to The Great Smoky Mountains National Park. “Cade’s Cove, next left,” the road sign read, and two bikes bumped along on the car hitch.

Four friends were going to hang out at Kings Island during Halloween Haunt. Their names are Jane Rogers, April O’Neil, Steve Rogers, and Donatello Hamato.

Jimin wakes up to the sound of explosions and fire. A thousand and some men meet their demise each day, and Jimin prays at night he’s not one of them. The war rages around him, and he gets off the make-shift bed to get changed into his gear to help out. He caps the patterned helmet and looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection stares back, sad and weary, a youth gone wrong. He smears camouflage onto his face, high on his cheekbones until there is nothing left of him but an empty vessel of war.

In January 1843 my fellow cop William Washington and I were just relaxing after and long and hard day on the job. All the sudden we get a suspicious call from a nearby home in Massachusetts. William and I grabbed our gear and went to investigate. When we arrived at the house, a lady answered the door and said that she heard a screech from her neighbor’s house. When we walked over to the neighbor’s house a young man answered the door and greeted us. When we told the young man that somebody reported a yell he said that it was his own from a nightmare he had. We ask him if we could search the his home and he hesitantly said yes. We searched all the floors of his home and William and I found nothing suspicious. We asked for the young man's name

If you look in the Sayre park art room, you might see someone standing in there painting or drawing or maybe even sculpting with clay. She is very elegant and friendly. But who is she?

We finally reached Alcove Springs! It was quite the sight, with all the trees and water. Everyone is happy here, we like to sing and play music on our instruments at night. We go to bed in good spirits and I'm happy to see that my boys have adjusted to the trip more than before. There is a huge problem here though, mosquitos. They have been getting in all of our food and getting bit by them terrible. We have tried to put mud on ourselves so that they wouldn't bite, but it dries our skin out really bad. It has been two days since we have got here and we all seem to be fed up with it. We left this morning.

Before you turn the page of this book I want you to know that this book is not pleasant. It is full of bad witches and morphed fairies. Even worse a girl who has to go through it all. Her name is Bell Linmor and she has it rough. But don’t worry it all works out.

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.

The storm erupted minutes after Casey returned to the main highway. Lightning streaked in double succession sideways and downwards in a fantastic show of Mother Nature’s wrath.

You invited me to start my work day to deliciously dine overlooking the Chicago River and with the stunning view of our beautiful skyline? Yes, please! That's like Instagram overload morning for me! Lucky for me, the Chicago Cut Steakhouse held a media Summer Escape Breakfast showcasing some of their delicious morning menu selections and I got to attend.

The Asylum “You won't go in.” , He Dared. “Yeah I will.” I said more braver than I meant. “Then open the door.”

“My friend, there are many things in this world and in the next that we do not understand. We may never understand. I believe the order of things may be out of balance. Something happened that caused the doors to the spirit world and ours to become out of whack. Evil spirits seem to have been able to gain access to our world and inhabit our bodily vesicles after we’ve left them. It’s possible that dream you had the other night. That might be the spirit world calling on you to help set things right again.”

Aargh sat alone on stone hewed square by his own hands. A labor of love and devotion. A skill and a trade passed down from generation to generation. This paticular stone will be the foot stone of a large carved monument. It will hold the words of tribute for the band of adventurers. Nothing was sticking as he mused about the tribute. Words trickled though his mind like waves lapping on the beach, coming and going, but leaving no permanent demarcation as the next wave rolled in and washed away the former thought.