Creative Writing: The Uniformity Of Grey

“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.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Now you’re going to slide your pistol toward me, and if you try anything, my men will kill you.”

I listened to the weapon’s high pitched tone lessen as it discharged behind me. It didn’t take long before I heard the familiar beep notifying me that the weapon was harmless once again. From what was standing before me in my doorway (at that particular moment), I was happy one part of my body could still function. although, breathing was necessary, what was between my ears was what had more importance for now. What was standing in front of me had instantly froze my feet in place, had widened my eyes as far as they could go, and stopped my heart. I didn’t know what to say, let alone what to do.

As one older gentleman tells the history of the building and what the military did, he shared his stories with such passion and conviction. He knew that building like the back of his hand. He knew every fact about it. Yet, his lady friend (Bethany) had focused much more on the spookiness of the building. It wasn't the walking around the building, it wasn't even the broken glass or vandalized walls that makes you think twice about entering. It’s the pure feeling of eeriness, you can just feel that you are not alone. You walk in and your skin simply crawls. Bethany sat and shared stories of loud thumps she hears time to time in the night to the phantom noises throughout the town that you simply can’t ignore. She says: “one of the ghosts who occupies the Buckner Building is apparently fond of whistling, and another has a particularly heavy step”. Her gentleman friend just giggled and went back to reading the newspaper. Bethany stated "there are memories she won't even share simply because they're too scary”. As Bethany poured me another cup of coffee she whispered “mostly, though, all the ghosts are

The man had his hands clasped behind his back as he was looking out the large bay window. They remained that way even as he turned at the high priestess's bidding. The man had very large hands, and they were covered in matte black leather gloves that did not reflect the light. Even indoors the man was wearing a great coat of the same matte leather, and it had tarnished silver buttons that ran in two rows from the neck down and were done up. The coat had a high collar that was strained by a thick, bullish neck. Atop that neck sat a long face with high cheekbones, a lantern jaw, and a strong chin. The man's eyes were an unnatural blue that shone with their own luminescence. His hair was blue-black, cropped short at the sides and swept back like

Immediate pain. No shock at all. Water streams down my face like Niagara Falls. I was not crying, but merely sweating from my eyes. I rolled on the hard cement in excruciating pain. My finger was throbbing at the beat of a drum. The immediate pain felt like the worst finger jam in my life, multiplied by fifty. I turned on my back on the hot cement to try to alleviate the pain. My pinky and ring fingers were fine, but it was my other three that were in a pain level beyond that of what I had ever imagined. I now knew the pain of being shot, as this pain was the equivalent. My left hand was as red as the shoes I was wearing. I took out my phone in order to dial my mom, and as I dialed her number, complete darkness overtook. I tried my hardest not to go to the light. The pain was just too much. When I woke up, I was somewhere else with a cast over my

The sun shone into my room while the wind made the blinds smack against the windows loudly, as if it was trying to get me to wake up. I turned to the other side of the bed and stared directly across the street. Instead of seeing a peaceful, quiet street, it gave me a view of the house opposite, surrounded by bright yellow police tapes. It took me a while to get my eyes readjusted. I then tried to read the words without my glasses, but I obviously needed them. I quickly put them on while I stared at the window, observing carefully what had really happened to my neighbours. Windows were smashed, traces of blood could be seen. It was evident that someone broke into their house and killed the whole family. However, there were no footprints to be

The muted color was the only feature the boy could see; surrounding him in an aura of monotony. Everything was washed in the neutral tone, and not even the hint of another color entered his field of vision. The trees were gray, as were all of the houses. Even the little puppy down the way was a deep ashen hue.

The car moves slowly on the cemented road. The highly amusing laughter changes into a random giggle as they pass a white corral style fence that separates the adjacent golf course. A 50 foot netted barrier mirrors the freeway side of the road, constructed many years ago, to prevent stray golf balls from ending up on the Golden State freeway.

As I arrive at the field, walking through the gate, the day modeled a perfect one for a track meet; the spring day felt warm around 76 degrees F. The fresh full air contained an abundance of oxygen. Large beaming rays of light reflect off the silver metal bleachers that stretch the length of the football field. The strong, but not frequent breeze cools off everything as it sweeps across the clustered groups of people throughout the stadium. When I am at the track I connect with my surrounding in order to prepare, run, and win a race. Similarly to Louv in his chapter “Singing for Bears” Louv must focus on his surroundings and use his senses to locate things around him. Louv states, “So we talked, sang, and shook the bear bells

Footsteps echo around the corner and down the passage. They’re coming. I distinctly feel every throbbing pulse as my heart beats feverishly, utter dread beginning to settle in my bones. My bare skin meets coolly with the white wall behind me as I press my back hard into it, wishing I could melt and disappear, evaporate from this endangered existence. The echoing steps grow louder with each passing second; I’m running out of time, out of options. I grip tightly around the syringe in my hand.

The fear of the unknown drew wandering bodies into the depths of the woods, known as the Strid. This isolated, rayless cavern was known to claim ghosts, if they even existed. As he stood in front of his former friend, Weigall pondered on the afterlife and the supernatural. Perhaps there is no such thing as ghosts, perhaps they are just ideas fabricated to soothe the human mind once a person passes away? Suddenly a crisp breeze chilled Weigall’s spine. The wind wailed in between the rotting tree trunks, bringing the ghastly smell decay to Weigall’s nose. An uneasy feeling downed upon Weigall as he parted from his longtime friend. The further Weigall ran the more the light faded. Soon he was surrounded by darkness and panic rushed through his veins. Something or someone was out to get him. Was this Gifford’s ghost rekindling their friendship or was it the Strid claiming its newest

As hunters, Darrel and Peter had a job to do. They had to hunt anything ghostly, paranormal, or supernatural. Because they weren’t typical hunters, they were monster hunters. They have had many adventures, hunting werewolves, vampires, and they even killed demons. But their next adventure couldn’t compare to anything that they have ever faced before…

Rin looks around her surroundings and walks along with her teacher, General Tiedoll. After going to Komui taking her to check her innocence and officially making her an exorcist for the black order.

I had not had a period for nine months and resigned myself to this stage of life being over permanently. In a moment, I was bleeding and made a beeline for the bathroom before leaving a stain on Genie’s couch. My light colored pants had a visible stain I had to wash out in the bathroom sink as much as possible. I could feel a cold sting as the water ran pierced the joints of my fingers and the bones of my knuckles. This sensation boosted an unhealthy adrenaline accelerating my heart rate and accentuating the pain I was so desperate to forget. A sharp pain surged through my hands as I grasped my pants and the blood washed down the sink. A bitter frustrated tear fell from my eye as I tried to breathe through the sharp pains in my chest. Even if the stain did not show, my pants were soaking wet. My house was close, but I was without the mobility to run home and change. I put the wet pants back on hoping no one would notice and that the dry air of the fire would take care of the