Golden Mane Creative Writing

I can't believe you! You took what wasn't yours you force and left so many holes.

The door slammed shut and we were both on the verge of tears; as I held her tightly in my arms we discussed everything that had just unfolded. What would become of our relationship? Emma's parents despised me as if their daughter was in love with Satan himself. We were both from completely different ends of society, but our love was inseparable, or so it seemed. Emma explained that even though she loved me we were just too different. After hours of conversation, we agreed to meet at a nearby restaurant the following day to discuss the future of our love. As I continue to reminisce, I lie wide awake, in a paralysed state, worrying about what tomorrow may bring. I know deep down in my heart that once that shining star dies so will I. Without her, I have no reason to live, no reason to continue fighting the cruel battle of life. Thus, if I lose my one and only angel there will be no hope, no light just a deep dark meaningless void filled with despair and suffering. However, despite the heartbreak and lack of light, I continue to cling to that last bit of thread, that last bit of hope, that last bit of

What will keep you warm then? What will keep you safe then? Nothing, that's right! Nothing at all. These words, they sting. But they echo, too. They're a warning, a promise that this flame is my protection. My shield from the horrible pains of abandonment and loneliness. What was your life before me? Who were you before me? You were no one, and no one you will return to if you extinguish me. You don't even remember life without me. But I do, I remember. You were so helpless then, but I protected you. I began small, so small you hardly knew what to make of me. You barely saw me, but as time grew, we grew together. You and me. Me and you. When you laughed, when you cried, when you loved and lost, I was there with you. I burned you, I know I did, but you mustn't focus on that, you mustn't take for granted what I did for you. The mind-numbing I did for you. And what great work I did; I made you so numb that you actually believed you could be happy again. But happiness loves to abandon you, doesn't it? It's so adorable on the outside, but it's oh-so-very wicked. It leads you on, makes you rise, then

I landed hard on the asphalt, I probably bruised my ass, as if I didn’t have enough from Yaqui beating me up. I stood up. Where was I? Was I still asleep? I pinched myself, no I was definitely awake. I looked around, I was in a parking lot. There was nobody around, wait! There were some people I ran over hoping that they knew where the heck I was. I stopped short these were boys about my age maybe a bit older and they looked like they were in a fight. The fight seemed unfair because it was four against two, I wanted to help, but I didn’t know what I could do. I watched as one of the older boys pushed one of the two not as well dressed boy’s head into a fountain. He was drowning him! His buddies were laughing. “Ponyboy!” The other boy who I

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.

The pain was gone. I couldn’t feel the warm goo running down my face. I was...glad...that the pain was gone. But now there was a new pain. My mind felt like it was being pulled from somewhere in different directions. “Are you alright?” Suddenly there’s a voice. The pain dulled when she spoke. Her voice was like an angel, (Yes, I know that sounds cliche) but it’s true. Her voice was as soft as a cloud’s depiction, as sweet as a butterscotch candy. She sounded like she was as graceful as a dragon in a story. No matter what she did it was a beautiful flow of movement transformed into an art. Like something you’d never want to look away from. “Don’t be shy, You’re safe now. Come, follow my voice and you shall see the grace of the clouds and the eternal light from the sun and stars above. You can see all of the beauty in the world as if you were there. Come, follow my voice, and the wonders of the world are yours to experience. “Wi-Will I see you?” I ask her. There was silence. A long pause. “If that is your wish.”, she finally said. I moved. I actually felt like I was moving, like I was walking. I started to run. The pain from my mind was dissipating. I was almost there, I could see a silhouette in the whiteness. I felt clear, at peace. It felt nice. I found the source of the voice. She was incomprehensibly beautiful. She looked down at me, her eyes were full of kindness. She smiled lovingly at me, like she knew me. I paused. “A-Are you my

My family moved from Garden Grove to La Habra at the end of first grade in order to be closer to our water store. It took me a while to adjust to my new school and every day I ended up talking to a new group of peers.

Her voice was like a whisper as the jail’s bars slowy closed upon her face. her vision was still dizzy, and she had not eat anything for hours. turning her head back, she tried to walk. clumsy steps were the best she could do, occasionally almost stumbling to reach the bed, or at least what seemed like a bed to her.

I, half-dead with thirst, came upon a silver Pitcher which had once been full of water; but when I put my beak into the mouth of the silver Pitcher I found that only very little water was left in it, and that I could not reach far enough down to get at it. I tried, and I tried, but at last had to give up in despair. Then a thought came to him, and I took a pebble and dropped it into the silver Pitcher. Then I took another pebble and dropped it into the silver Pitcher. Then I took another pebble and dropped that into the Pitcher. Then I took another pebble and dropped that into

Dear Stan, It’s been a rough couple of months so far here in Da Nang. Just an hour ago, the NVA moved up closer to the airfield and shot down a loaded C-130 transport plane. The wreckage was spread out all over the runway, killing around twentie two guys. At first, I didn’t even know the NVA had RPG-7’s. The Soviets must have supplied them well, I wasn’t surprised that they would support any country against us. Anyway, I’ve been unlucky in the recent months like I said before. It was August 2nd, and Cpt. Cole called in a Huey gunship. We needed fire support on hill 137, there were several NVA 50.cal positions that were dugg in. They also had plenty of RPK bipod mounts all over the mountain, we were ducked the whole time to avoid getting nailed

Good. I touch the icon and drag it. Oh, it’s following my finger’s movement. Alright, let’s see… I drag it to the slot that indicates my right hand. Immediately, the bokutõ shows up on my hand with a quick white light.

Vana looked out the window incredulously. It was an odd experience, one of complete and utter blackness. There were, however, spots of light that she didn’t immediately realize were stars. It felt wrong; they didn’t twinkle. She felt a sense of security but also a little shaky discerning that. She’d always been skeptical about anything theological, but now that she’d seen more of the world than she’d ever seen before, she almost believed in an omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent god. She was all but paralyzed with awe.

You've been stolen away from me and I feel a bitter, metallic aftertaste, like aged blood. And all I wish for is that when shooting stars erupt in the skies the sound of your name will forever disappear from my mind. The deep and desperate metronome of a tiny, bony heart pierced the silence in the room. The sounds of its erratic beating, drilled into my ears, deeper and deeper.

“Whiskers?” Where are you Whiskers? You can come out now the thunderstorm is over.” Searching high and low for his old, frightened cat, Whiskers, Walter Washington decides to go to bed figuring Whiskers is hiding still spooked over the storm that just passed. While laying in bed trying, but failing to fall asleep, still worried over the fact Whiskers hasn’t come out from her hiding spot Walter makes his way down stairs to go searching for his cat once again. Stumbling down the stairs, he hears what sounds to be nails scratching at his hardwood floor. Confused, he flips on the light and sees a lump under the large rug laid out on the living room floor. At first the lump is still, but the closer he gets, the more it starts to fidget under the rug. Thinking it’s his cat

Nessa was not used to the big city and the cold winters in New York. She grew up in a small town in Arizona where she was not accustomed to the cold, for she had only moved there three months ago.