Nudging Creative Writing

Suddenly my eyes flew open, the coldness slowly lingered away. My body felt warm. Almost as warm as how my mouth felt the last time I had sipped on my grandmother's tea. My grandmother always told me to have faith and to believe in the end everything would be alright. I felt the frigid saltwater against my skin. “Where am I?” I thought to myself. I couldn’t quite recall what had happened nor where I was. All that I could recall was hearing screams of innocent children and parents trying to comfort

I don’t quite know how to explain what happened next. It was like being in a sensory deprivation tank, but I could feel—no that's not right—I could sense something different was moving toward me.

I could feel the breeze skim through my hair as my loose shirt caught the brisk air behind me. This was my sanctuary, the feeling was bliss. I made my way home, bracing myself for the approaching argument I was about to have with my mother. That feeling of pleasure left my body as quickly as it arrived. I stepped into the front door, and closed it behind me as quietly as I could, maybe she wouldn't notice I was late home. But before I could even take the first few steps inside, I heard mum coming from the kitchen,

I felt strong hands grab my arms. Hands covered in thick gloves. My throat went dry, and my muscles tensed. “No.” I whispered, being lifted off of my chair and onto my feet. The word feels ripped from my chest, unhuman. Like it’s not even mine.

You moan, trying to figure out what just happened. As you start looking around, you realize that you’re no longer

Desperately, fighting to stay occupied; so thoughts of is it really ok for me to go back, stay buried inside. Although, briefly successful, it’s not long till every emotion that’s been blocked rushes over your body. Until you feel chilly and its ninety eight degrees at the moment. Simultaneously, rubbing your palms on the front of your freshly dry cleaned pants; since they won’t stop sweating. Wondering, who will be there when I finally walk through those doors? Does anyone care enough to even show up? Every moment of excitement feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, is followed by the sensation of someone just kicked my dog. The closer it becomes to arriving at that final stop, the stronger the pressure builds up around the heart. Producing the horrific sensation of something squeezing it just enough to

The diction Luxun uses to describe the narrator’s feelings gives the reader the same feeling. “My flesh crept…her eyes made a shiver run down my spine.” is a feeling that almost everyone will feel when they are startled or under pressure. The narrator also feels

My thoughts have condensed into a tangled mess, and a steady stream of coldcoldcold is all that’s coherent. Huddling atop my bed (hardly a bed; it’s near indistinguishable from cardboard and paper) is all I’m capable of in this state.

Finally, I settled on cocooning myself with the blanket, with just my hands and head protruding. I began my journey of discovery into my paperback.

Hands were wrapped around my neck. I couldn 't breathe. I felt something touch my hand and I let out a sob. I tried to calm myself down. This isn’t going to happen again. I

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.

I touched the sheets around me. Satin. They were satin sheets, and that’s when I realized where I was. My eyes were heavy as I ghosted over the room.

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.

'Okay, there's a strange jacket on me. That's fine' I thought as I inspected the jacket further. By then I had fully accepted that there was a strange ghost that wanted to keep me warm and had, in fact, given me its jacket. The waterproof material crinkled loudly as I pulled it off my shoulders and sat it down on top of the scattered books and trash I was definitely going to have to clean up at some point in the day.

It suddenly remembered me of that horrific feeling of being trapped like a defenceless rabbit, being so scared of what could happen, ergo being paralysed and transfixed by your surroundings.