Creative Writing: Why Lost One Seek Me Out?

I remember falling asleep, but I don’t remember being in a bed. I had fallen asleep in the hall due to my emotional state. My body didn’t need the sleep. My mind did. I’m actually happy I did. It got my mind off all my problems and sorrows for a good while. I sit up, pushing the unfamiliar blankets off my body. I’m in a strange hard bed in a foreign room. Everything around me feels new and alien. This isn’t my dull little prison. This room is slightly decorated with light brown walls and a dresser covered with random things.

I’m holding my beautiful wife in my arms on the living room floor, I’m running my hand across

room before I leave. I see my bed all made, my bookshelf with all of the books I’ve loved

I tell her no. She steps lively down the hall, across the linoleum of the kitchen, opens the refrigerator door, and pours herself a glass of water.

“I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say about the way you treat me, now go home and look after your daughter, she needs you,” Silvia demanded, shrugging Walker’s arm off of her body.

Low under the busy city at night, on a deserted train was Valeria sitting alone in the silence. She looks out the window, in the dark distance and notices a man stealing a shiny diamond ring from an old woman’s pocket. Valeria looks up and watches the man hop on the train. The man looked shady, wearing dark clothes and had a tattoo sleeve but had the brightest blue eyes. Valeria watched him, sliding the ring on his right index finger. In the empty train the man walks over to the spare seat next to her “anyone sitting there?” with fear Valeria replies “No, there’s nobody sitting there”. The words ‘Benton’ flashing in red indicating that’s the next stop, Valeria immediately hops off the train. She turns her head looking back at him but he was

“Since I met Alex, so almost like about a month and a half, it has probably been happening longer than that, though.”

I awoke to the sound of my baby monitor crackling with a voice comforting my first born child. As I adjust to a new position, my arm brushed against my wife, sleeping next to me. I can’t tell if it’s male or female, but it sounds distant and close all at the same time. I continue to listen to the mesmerizing lullaby, but then it comes to a sudden stop.

I like not to have never gone back to sleep and once I did it was a fitful sleep; I tossed and turned trying to renew my dreams, but they did not return. The following morning, I woke tired and most depressed. I should have been relaxed after experiencing such consuming orgasms, but I felt the opposite. I paced the floor thinking of the dream… I contemplated revealing the nights sensual “dreams” to Angelique then changed my mind.

I wake up to a bedside low lit lamb and a woman who I do not know sleeping next to me. Her breathing is calm and genital, like a feather on baby's skin. We lay in the spooning position. I gently remove my arm from her head and pillow so as not to wake her. Her hair smells like jasmine and reminds me of one of the memories I experienced from one of the lost. While freeing my arm I can't help but take I look at her face. She is beautiful. I try to summarize what kind of person she is; good, Bad? One cannot judge a person's virtue when they are sleeping, for that is the moment when a face is truly innocent.

After I graduated from college three years ago, I wanted to quickly break into the writing world. I knew I had a writer 's mind and a writer 's blood, yet I didn 't acknowledge the true commitment it took to become a good writer.

His head unnaturally aching, Barney Mayerson woke to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom in an unfamiliar conapt building. Beside him, the covers up to her bare, smooth shoulders, an unfamiliar girl slept on, breathing lightly through her mouth, her hair a tumble of cotton-like white.

I wake suddenly, every thought and sound in high definition. My eyes take in every ray of light and without a doubt I know I've slept too long. I am laying on my side so the trees are standing horizontally and I stare out into the distance until a pair of shoes walk in front of me, causing me to quickly sit up and scream as my eyes meet with no other than the strange and possible murderer I caught earlier.

The relationship a writer has to research is crucial. Research plays a key role in writing because it provides the reader with background knowledge in proving a point. Researching information whether it be online or in books helps me gather new ideas and opinions about the specific topic I am focusing on. For example, while I was researching information for my Synthesis #2, I was exposed to a lot of new details about my TV series that I would have never found out otherwise. While I was researching, I was also building on my essay and the topics I want to touch upon. Furthermore, during the research process I was exposed to potential information that I could include in my essay. The relationship that research has to writing is essential. I realized

With nothing but a mud round wall and a thatched roof on top, I’m somehow supposed to sleep here for a couple of weeks. I decide to edge closer to this African hut and peer into it through this gap. I presume this is the doorway into inside. My eyes are drawn straight to a tiny bed mattress, which is almost like my black yoga mat at home. After the shock of this, I glance around the hut and notice a few little homemade bowls, cups and ornaments. Weirdly, this makes me feel a little more at home and welcomed. Nightfall is settling in now, so the group and I decide to get to know each other a bit more. After a couple hours of jokes and laughter, the first night’s sleep was sure to be a different one to what I’ve ever been used to. I slowly and gently lay down onto my new bed in the dark corner of the mud hut. Then I notice it’s surprisingly even more uncomfortable than it looks. The realisation of where I am lets nerves and anxiety creep into me, but I soon manage to shake it off.