Creative Writing: The Worst Kind Of Torture

“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.

Then some of people noticed a new guest, dress as a clothes of the Red Death. Everyone was freaking out because of him. When Prince Prospero saw this guy, he became angry and asked courtiers to seize him and unmask him. But no one have the courage to do it, including Prospero himself. The Red Death walked through the rooms, heading toward the black room. Prospero chased him with taking his dagger. Prospero reached the edge of the dark room, the Red Death suddenly turned to face him, and Prospero fell on the ground and dead. "Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revelers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony

“Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian

“Clear out the rest of the building. If there’s any others that decide to fight back, don’t hesitate to call for help.” He stepped on the female’s shattered skull. “Y’all know what I’m capable

Letting out a miserable groan, my eyes rolled to the back of my head and I slowly sank into my seat. Finally, the bell’s boisterous rings erupted throughout the classroom, signifying my freedom. Running to the exit, I quickly grabbed myself a copy from the monstrous stack at the front of the room. Forcefully shoving it into the bottom of my bag, the novel was the last thing I wanted to think about for the rest of the

As he stared down the dark, winding streets of London it was evident that he was in pain beyond imagination. His eyes were evidently engorged and it could be seen through the purple clouds around his eyes that he was close to losing all control of his senses. Blood was seeping from the deep hole in the upper right corner of his left shoulder, every sluggish step he took forward sent a searing pain through his nerves all the way to the wound, leaving no chance for the blood loss to halt. The cold rain was falling gently onto the gloomy road surrounding him but it bothered him not, the dangerously dark setting in fact paid tribute to his murky charisma. His head hung, long grimy hair falling over his eyes as he looked straight down at the aged

Do it, Emma. Get rid of the pain. I bit my lip, trying to resist the urge, but give in. I pick the sharp blade and place it above my left wrist. C'mon, don't you want to feel better? Tears stream down my face. I want to make things better, but will this actually help.. I exhaled and grazed the blade against my skin. Good. More. I give in again and cut deeper than before. The blood oozes out as little beads and falls onto white tiled floor, coating the floor with blood. I lower my gaze to the floor, taking in the numbness I feel. I take a deep breath, knowing that the adrenaline is kicking in. The feeling is a sort of high I'm addicted to, allowing me to forget everything at the moment. The pains spreads throughout my body to my fingertips to

Chunks of bone and muck hit her in the face and caused Allison to flinch, spit, and sputter. The shriek that sounded like a sharp metal blade shredding thinner metal caused her to shudder.

“I know,” she replies faintly. She tries to mentally prepare herself for what she’s about to do. She can still hear the noise of a gunshot, and she can feel the ringing in her ears. She closes her eyes, and the memory of Alex’s blood spilling onto the concrete is still fresh. Everything hurts, and she doesn’t want to do this anymore.

“Mrs. Mitchell is in critical condition.” Lydia’s face crumpled and she was about to give up hope when the doctor spoke again. “Her legs are both broken and, due to the lengthy time spent without access to blood, almost completely dead. She has two broken ribs, a broken arm, and a minor concussion. Luckily, there was no damage to the brain. I know this must be so hard for you both, but chin up! Although she will never walk again, we are almost positive that we will be able to heal her broken bones and her other minor injuries.” At Lydia’s concerned look, he clarified. “By minor injuries, I simply mean cuts, gashes, bruises and the like. In conclusion, we will be able to help Mrs. Mitchell, but she will have to stay overnight, perhaps for a week or two. Do the two of you need a place to stay?” After the pair mutely shook their heads, Mr. Hal walked up to the front desk, paid the bill, and drove Lydia to his house in silence. “You can stay here until we get your house fixed up,” he told her as they hopped out of the wagon

I just got done with an excellent day of painting in Mrs.Boe’s art class and as i was walking down the halls i think to myself oh no my next i have the dreaded Mrs.Berntson’s torture filled class. Once i turn the corner coming up from the stairs i see a big rope of snot shoot from out Mrs.Berstsons class room and rope some kid named Tavion in. As i slowly inch closer to her classroom i can hear Tavion screaming. Now i'm at her closed door and i’m going to try to slowly open it and see if i can sneak in without her hearing or seeing me.

I hunkered down behind the massive boulder and managed to wedge myself between it and another stone and I kicked out. It didn’t budge. I shoved again, harder, but it wouldn’t give an inch. My only option was to use

I can't move, every ounce of breath is crucial. I feel it trying to trap me in a wooden coffin-like box. I scream "Mom!" as loud as I can, nothing. Not a yell or a screech, just one single whisper.

I ask to go to the bathroom to get away from this disgusting class. As I walk past Mrs. Smith’s room, one of the sixth grade teachers, I see colored lights flashing through the cracks of the door. I walk close to see if I can hear anything, but it was completely quiet. Almost too quiet...

The aroma of musty wood and rusty metal lingered in the still air as my forehead beaded with droplets of cold sweat. As I sat fidgeting on an uneven blue chair, I absentmindedly watched as students entered small rooms with distressed emotions plastered on their anxious faces. There was one particular student I watched from a distance as she cautiously walked into a room that was lined with tearing yellow wallpaper. Her rich auburn blonde hair was matted down to her scalp from her sweat and I noticed her calves were shaking the tiniest bit. Her face portrayed an uneasy look as she slowly closed the door and I gradually snapped back into focus.