Park Creative Writing

My heart pounded as my feet slammed along the beaten path in the woods. When I was certain I had gained enough ground, I dove under a bush. I began to crawl from the path, the branches tugging on my hair. I smiled as flowers danced across my face.

Everybody was gone. Evacuated, they called it. The Pearl of Asia, a city once renowned the world over for its vibrant music and art scenes, along with its French-style architecture –now devoid of living souls. The city centre was only a corpse of its former self: the central market was completely unrecognisable; the surrounding houses now just piles of brick and wood. They said that we did not need cities, that we were corrupted by Western values. They would create a new society, free from the old ways of money and greed. The past five years had been quite abominable, so everybody hoped that this new government would finally bring peace.

I attended school regularly, associating myself with the same group of friends. Social statues were not yet established at such a young age, although there was one girl in my class named Shanese who nobody ever seemed to associate themselves with. She was new to the school; quiet, unobtrusive and she always seemed to have a melancholy attitude. Similarly to many other students in the class, I disregarded Shanese and continued with my normal activities until one day when I decided to pursue my curiosity about this discreet girl. It was time for recess, and I told my other friends to go to the swings without me. Instead of following them, I made an effort to introduce myself to Shanese and invite her to the see-saw with me. She agreed, with a seemingly uncertain response, most likely because nobody had ever approached her in such a way. As we silently made our way through the tire pellets to

As we started along the trail, I worried about forgotten items and my decision to only bring one extra pair of socks. However, after a while, I became aware of a pair of birds chattering above me and the soft murmur of water trickling down a stream bed. After an hour of walking, the trail starts winding back on itself in a series of switchbacks. The chatter between my family members slows down, as we soon struggled to breathe from exhaustion. Sometimes I was hunched over so far from my load that I would stare at my rubber-toed boots and forget to look up at the majestic trees surrounding me.

I layed back, kicked my feet up, and looked up at the sun trying to break through the leaves of the enormous Oak trees. There is one place I always end up when I want to escape from the rest of the world: Pokagon State Park.

The cold of winter had finally given way to gentle temperateness, and the spring sun shone over the massive, perfectly manicured lawn, dappling its light through the leafy branches of the grand, towering oak tree. Elana Steinbach sat peacefully thereunder, sipping cool, sweet lemonade for the first time in months as she perused a book. The leaves danced in the cool breeze; the whole environment was quite tranquil. There was nothing like the first day of true spring, when one could at last escape the stale, heated air and enclosing confines of the indoors.

The weather was pleasant, with cloudless blue skies and the air heavy with birdsong along their route. Accompanying those who were being sent to assess the damage at the Salsolan Outpost had been a choice — the same way drinking when thirsty was a choice — and bringing her slave had been just another facet.

Carver prowled up and down the halls of Aldersley Park, the mansion he had inherited when his parents were tragically killed in a plane crash two years before. He felt restless, twenty three years old and wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, and yet he felt restless. His skin crawled with desire for release, any kind of release from his frustration.

Sneaking out the house at midnight for the fourth time this week. I slowly slink out the front and the brisk night air tickles my cheeks. Closing the door, I endure the most painful silence as the ever so slight noise may wake my sister. It finally shuts and I wait for a moment to see if anyone rushes to find who left or entered the house. After a few minutes, I decide it's safe to go. I walk down the driveway as the midnight breeze embraces me. As I reach the sidewalk, I look to the moon. It's tender white light illuminates the sky, but is polluted by the harsh yellow light spewing from the street lamps. Despite how ugly the street lamp light is, it still does the job of providing adequate quite well. I turn left down the street and head toward

It’s Tuesday morning. It’s the end of summer. It’s the start of school. Ugh, i don't want to get up. The clock said 7:20 i should of woke up at 7:00. I forced myself to get out of bed and went to get ready. What should i wear? Is this too much black? No white, I’m clumsy. Is pink too girly? If i wear wings will it be too try-hard? Straight hair or curly? I put on some jeans and a graphic t-shirt. Then grabbed a waffle and went to the bus stop. The bus comes at 8:01 so i walked all the way up the hill at 7:56. A few minutes later this blonde chick appears at the top of the hill. Nike shorts, nike shoes, Rock Bridge shirt, ponytail, so she’s sporty. She stands two feet away and doesn’t even say hi. Okay so she doesn’t seem friendly. Let’s not talk or look at her. It’s now 8:10 and the bus still isn’t here. My phone is at 75% should i go home really quick and grab my charger? Knowing my luck if I walk away the bus will come. It’s still summer vacation in Danville so there’s no one to text. After standing in front of a stop sign for twenty five minutes the bus finally comes.

Once I arrived at the park, I breathed in the fresh air around me and took it all in. The air was cool and salty from the Atlantic ocean, and the trees were a stunning shade of orange this autumn. I could hear the waves crashing against the shore and leaves crunching beneath my feet. An ice cold wind whipped my hair, and I was glad I wore warm clothes. I made a beeline

On December 1,1955, I was walking to the bus stop to get transported home from the Montgomery Fair Department store.

The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.

Then you begin to notice the sound of the grass, brushing against the bottom of your blue rainboots, and the crunching of acorns and twigs underfoot. Crunch. Pop. Crack. A familiar sound. Your attention turns slightly to your right where you find there is a small, dirt path, barely noticeable behind the fingers of the shrubs and saplings on either side of it. Pushing aside some of the leafy, pliable branches in your way, you start down the path. Your lungs fill with a rich, earthy smell. A good smell. It’s the smell of mother nature’s construction and destruction of life.

It's four o’clock on a rainy, autumn, Monday afternoon. I’ve chosen my location to be my room in my apartment at 2224 Blowing Rock Rd. The window is always left open due to my admiration for the regular sounds that occur outside my building. This location makes me feel comfortable, calm, and upbeat. Not only did I specifically pick out the place and time for this assignment I really aimed to write this while the weather was accenting autumn, wet and windy. Nothing is more relaxing than a nice cup of coffee in the comforts of your own bed while the wind and rain serenade you. The whole season of fall makes me feel warm and content. Thoreau wrote “The indescribable innocence and beneficence of Nature, --- of the sun and wind and rain, of summer and winter, --- such health, such cheer, they afford forever! And such sympathy have they ever with our race, that all nature would be affected, and the suns brightness fade, and the winds would sigh humanely, and the clouds rain tears, and the woods shed their leaves and put on mourning in midsummer, if any man should ever for just a cause grieve” (Solitude, 110).