Creative Writing: Vincent England

A twig snaps behind me and I swing around, instincts putting me in a fighting mindset. Instead of a threat, I am greeted by a grey haired man with shabby clothes and a dirty beard. He stares at me for a few seconds as if evaluating me as a risk and then speaks to me in a calm voice. "“howdy stranger, can I help you with anything?”" I try to reply but still surprised my words fail me. Instead, he continues to speak, "“that’s a deep looking cut you’ve got on your forehead". He moves towards me, limping a little, reducing pressure on his left leg naturally. I step back warily, but he swiftly covers the ground between us and grabs my shoulder with his left hand. His unclean breath blows in my face for a moment, and a shiver of fear and disgust runs down my spine. The shiver leaves as he turns his head to the side, seemingly searching for something on his belt. Out of a small bag attached to his belt he produces a plastic packet. After tearing open the package with his teeth he pulls out the prize, and dabs the alcohol soaked swab on my wound. I flinch as the alcohol seems to burn my unprotected flesh. I grab my forehead in agony

I was broken. I had nothing left inside of me, my life was slowly disappearing and I couldn’t stop it. As I lied on the cold wooden floor of my room the pain from where he had hit me was erupting inside of me. Every part of my body ached in agony, I struggled to suck in air. As my eyes flooded with tears and I looked at myself in the mirror I was horrified at the person looking back at me. Blood was running off my face and onto my nightdress. Deep purple welts had already started to form across my fragile body from the forceful impact of his rough fists that consistently made contact with my small figure. But living day and night in this torture couldn’t hurt me anymore than it already has, but what does is that it was him that did this to

You created hell in my world as you threaten my wife that you would murder her if she told anyone and to force my children for slaves for your ostentatious lifestyle. Hell be with you, you sinful coward. HELL BE WITH YOU!” Those were the fiery and intense worlds that rushed out of the man's mouth. As the aggressor processed once again what the man had done, I saw him get even more angry. The attack pulled out his sword again and stabbed the slowly decaying man one, two, three, so many times I lost count. I’ve been seen anyone be so brutal. I can hear the attacker clench his teeth and scream with anger. The entry wounds on the now dead man were endless. It was not a murder anymore, it was overkill. It was satanic. Out of frustration and fatigueness the aggressor threw the sword besides the body and fell on his knees. I was scared and confused on what to do. The aggressor had greatly suffered because of this man and I’ve seen him around town and he didn’t disclose anything to anyone. He did kill a man on the other side and justice will take place of the dead man. I stuck in between reporting to the authorities what this individual has done or keep it a secret for his peace. I glanced one last time at

He produced numerous, knives, tongs, and saws from the cabinets to his left and right. Many of his instruments were doused in fresh crimson fluids and had heavy signs of use. He removed my clothes, folding them into a nice neat pile, placing them on a countertop to his right. I felt the first incision, a fine line being carved vertically across my chest, peeling back the skin. Next he used a fine-tooth saw to cut through my sternum. It wasn’t until he cracked my ribs open, that the futility of the situation took effect. The pain was excruciating, I began to scream and thrash around on the bench, kicking his instruments of torture. “Shhh, shhh, shh,” he said, placing a dirty wet rag over my mouth. My vision blurred, as I watching my exposed heart beat, blood pulsating from my chest, over my bare skin, down onto the stone floor. I slipped into a warm

You created hell in my world as you threaten my wife that you would murder her if she told anyone and to force my children for slaves for your ostentatious lifestyle. Hell be with you, you sinful coward. HELL BE WITH YOU!” Those were the fiery and intense worlds that rushed out of the man's mouth. As the aggressor processed once again, what the man had done, I saw him get even more angry. The attack pulled out his sword again and stabbed the slowly decaying man one, two, three, so many times I lost count. I’ve never seen anyone be so brutal. I can hear the attacker clench his teeth and scream with anger. The entry wounds on the now dead man were endless. It was not a murder anymore, it was overkill. It was satanic. Out of frustration and fatigueness the aggressor threw the sword besides the body and fell on his knees. I was scared and confused on what to do. The aggressor had greatly suffered because of this man and I’ve seen him around town and he didn’t disclose anything to anyone. He did kill a man on the other side and justice will take place of the dead man. I stuck in between reporting to the authorities what this individual has done or keep it a secret for his peace. I glanced one last time at the scene.

Back in the main level of the factory, Wolf and Fox find Hawk lying on the ground, pale and unresponsive, his bulletproof vest next to him and the edges of a red stain showing around a wad of gauze. A soldier that Fox assumes is N-Unit's medic kneels next to him, along with Snake and Coyote. The three medics are talking frantically among themselves. The rest of N-Unit hovers nervously nearby; the rest of H-Unit is nowhere to be seen. Dust particles dance through the beams of sunlight from the holes where windows used to be, giving the whole scene a strangely dreamy air.

I stood between the two bodies, looking into their lifeless, glassy eyes. Crimson blood pooled around their stiff bodies. More blood ran down the blade of the knife I clutched in my hand, gathering at the point and slowly dripping on my leg. What had he done?

You could feel the riot before you could see it. There was something else in the crisp early morning New York air, a certain electricity. A certain static that could only have been brought about by the winds of change. Even at three am the city is usually alive, but in these early Saturday morning hours Christopher Street was more alive than usual. However, it wasn't the normal flamboyant energy it had come to been known for. It was an angry energy, one that's only capable of being created by an oppressed group fed up with the constant mistreatment they've too long endured.

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.

Picking up the telephone, Margaret started to call Andrew to tell him about Officer Anderson. Glancing out the bay window, she saw a man walking down the sidewalk with two large dogs. Suddenly, one of them pulled on the chain, running toward the gate, barking and trying to get into the yard. Margaret rushed out to the front porch to see what was going on with the dogs. Noticing the neighbor’s cat sitting in the flower bed, she yelled for it to go home, but it didn’t move. The man yelled for the dog to come back.

Samuel put down the Sun Newspaper, and removed his glasses with a satisfying smile on the corner of his mouth. More and more population are flooding to New York. It is not easy in New York City, where many people become merchants, and it is quite competitive. Thanks to the Erie Canal, his importing business has been constantly growing. He needs to make this investment. Samuel worked quite hard to become this successful in the hardware merchant business. From metal, nails, screws, to farm implements, he sells anything that earns a copper. Mr. Duncan saved every dime he could get (everyday life in 1800s).

With sweat dripping from his tanned brown forehead, Daniel paused from his work and glanced around the barn. The barn was humid and hot and smelled of horse manure and dry hay. But, Daniel thought as he pushed his eyes toward the double wooden barn doors leading out into a bright and blistering day, at least the barn is offering some relief from the heat.

I am lying in bed trying to come up with a sleeping arrangement. Right now Rion sleeps in our room, but will advetually move into Charlie's room and share it with him. We can't have Asher sleep with Zoe and Sophia in there room and the bedroom in the basement is too far away. I turn over.

Why couldn't Sir Perceval enjoy a nice, quiet supper at Camelot's Cup and Sword Tavern?