John Davidson Creative Writing

"Afternoon, Harry!", Jones spits, his outstretched smile revealing pityingly repulsive teeth jutting out of his face like a pile of mildly-sculpted rocks stuck into the earth by a toddler. I give a slight nod, bringing my attention back to watering my browning larkspur plant I carefully nestled into the soil at the beginning of summer.

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.

The patient was asked to keep a paper and pen by his bed and record any dreams or nightmares he may experience with as much detail as he can remember. The patient suffers from disturbing and vivid nightmares. The patient described a nightmare in which he “…was shot in my side and people ran past me without helping, as they were all running for their lives” (27), this nightmare shows the patient obviously suffers from feelings of helplessness and abandonment. On another occasion the patient describes a dream where he was moving a dead body, as he “…lifts the cloth from the body’s face. I am looking at my own” (31).

It was dark and alone and I felt the need to cry. One by one everyone I have ever loved showed up. My mom, my sister, my late girlfriend, my grandma… I could go on. Their eyes were on me and only me. I was the only stimulus in the room. The yelled at me. I was irrational . I had put them in a situation where they didn’t even know me anymore. I was the monster under the bed and I was the reason why people were scared. They yelled so loud to the point where I didn’t even know if they were screams anymore.

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.

As I walked out of my dorm that morning for my 9am class, I checked my schedule to see where I needed to go. My first class was public speaking in room 232. My stomach instantly dropped. The calmness I once felt left my body in a rush. Public speaking was my worst fear. I stuttered and mumbled and shook each time I entered a crowded room. Speaking in front of a whole classroom has never been on my bucket list. I fretfully continued my journey to room 232. I attempted to give myself a pep talk along the way to help calm my nerves, but nothing was helping. I told myself that this was not

" Fuck you too." I groan, my blond hair falling slightly on my shoulder as I look at my clock. 7:00 AM. With only 30 minutes to get dressed, onto the bus, and to my Living Hell, better known as school, and I sigh and get up. As I start to pull out clothes to wear I decide that I'll wear some jeans and my black hoodie with my white FairyTail shirt under it.

You can't catch anything!" Tommy exclaimed to Blake. The two young boys were playing catch in the park. It was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon. These two were best friends and always came to this park everyday to play catch. This park. The park they're parents would never them go to. This park was known for being a bad park. Anything bad anyone could think of had supposedly happened here. Blake and Tommy knew that, but it had the best baseball field. The baseball field was definitely not in good shape, but it would prepare them for any bad field they could play on.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!  The slimy, pink puke squirted all over the house and started flooding the house. It was still squirting and it never stopped!

A week later, Donald Gennaro found himself on a raft being pulled to shore in the jungles of the Dominican Republic. Gennaro was a lawyer, and he was most definitely out of place. His grey suit was beginning to stain with sweat. Gennaro wiped his balding head with a handkerchief.

A day in the life of hair is not easy. Like, getting wedged in braids, getting dyed, having lice crawling around you (which is itchy) or getting shaved into stubble. People can take good care of their hair and others, it's just a feature. However, Hannah is a whole different story. If you looked at Hannah you would just see a twelve-year-old girl with dimples and dark, kinky hair. Hannah and I have a rapport relationship. I'm on top of her head watching her grow up into an intelligent teenager. I'm the dark, kinky hair and I have been here for the tough times like when her dad had died and when she got bullied in third grade for having a wonky smile. She would

One afternoon, at Kint High School, the students in room 214 were itching for the bell to ring so they can go home. Mark Sanders, a skinny short haired boy, was waiting for something more interesting; Basketball tryouts. “Come on, Come on please let this day be over.” Whispered Mark. He purposely did this to make sure nobody heard him. “Why are you so anxious? It's not like you any good.” Hollered Sheila, the most annoying girl in the class. Mark shot a look at Shiela that would be fatal if looks could kill. Sheila laughed “You're always quiet, just wait until you need to talk during basketball.” “Mind your business, don't worry about me I don't need to talk loud to play ball.” “Shiela why you always gotta be so negative, and Mark you think you're so much better than everybody. You have to start speaking up.” Uttered Mark’s friend Johnny. “You know what-” Shiela tried to talk but the bell cut her off.

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.

I jolted awake in fear. I had a dream. A weird dream. A vivid dream. It was full of people shouting and bright flashes of light. It was confusing yet clear, like some part of me understood it. I didn’t know it would be important then but now I know. How? Well, it happened like this…

From the time I was a young child I was plagued with nightmares. These nightmare continued thought my life into my teenage years. There were times that that the darkness surrounding me became so heavy, that I felt like it was drowning me.Pulling me deeper and deeper into its horrendous domain, until I could no longer see the light. In the wee hours of the morning I would awaken covered in sweat, panting, desperately trying to refill my lungs with oxygen. As the woeful tears rolled down my cheeks, I would close my eyes and picture ten