Room 100 Creative Writing

The meeting was starting. The leader, an older woman with green eyes who looked familiar somehow, stood at a little black podium in between the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions posters, the neon AA triangle symbol glowing powder-blue, hopeful, behind her.

He woke up in a cold sweat on the floor of a strange, rusty iron elevator, there were steel barrels, crates, and coils of rope. He felt the elevator stop and he could faintly hear people talking above him. Suddenly, big iron doors above him swung open and he was blinded by the light that came out. “Hey there!” a voice said. “Well you must be confused, let me help clear things up a bit. I’m Ethan, I run things around here”.

Sunshine was pouring out from in between the buildings, casting shadows all around Ponyboy and the gang as they walked to Pony’s school. They were taking their time walking down the streets and for the first time they all were really seeing what was all around them. Memories were surfacing in their minds showing them what it all meant to them. With every step they took on the sidewalk they remembered a different memory as if they were walking down memory lane. Ponyboy didn’t think it was possible for him to be walking down this street for the last time as a high school student, but he had gone through the years with great grades that earned him many scholarships.

The curiosities that revolve around this event infatuate me. The night of the occurrence I knew something was off, I was petrified. I lied awake that night trying to remove my mind from the agonizing fear that crippled me, giving myself countless alternative reasons for the sounds that rudely awoke me. This man that did this to me was not a stranger, I spoke to him many times throughout the week and he was consistently kind, maybe it was part of his plan, so I wouldn’t suspect it. He was a regular acquaintance that I consistently interacted with, to me he wouldn’t ever hurt a fly, but that night, seconds before my death, I saw alarmingly unfamiliar resentment from the way he looked at me. I knew the noises weren’t the crickets. I hoped that

I wrap my scarf around my neck and reach down to lace up my boots. Careful not to drop my cross body bag as it swings down, I stand up straight and walk out the door. As I lock the front door behind me, I inhale a deep breath. This is my favorite time of year. The air is brisk, yet the sun is warm on my skin. I begin my walk to work since my car officially died yesterday. This is the third time this month, but I don’t really mind. I love walking when the weather is like this. The sounds of leaves crunching beneath my feet sounds like music.

Jump!!! My dog jumps on my bed looking at me. I could tell he was going to bark closing my ears from the loud screechy bark. And then he jumps off my bed only to play with his rope. I sit up staring at my phone that was bright I look at my dog waiting for me to get up.

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.

The raspy wind rises in swirls, encircling the entirety of my lean body. The parched, coarse sand scrapes across my angular face, burying and scraping itself into the warmth of fresh, open wounds. The sun scorches my skin raw, condemning the violence, the blood, and the screams that seem to echo all throughout the lifeless mountain side. Welcome to Afghanistan. Bitter laughter fills my head.

As he sat stiff backed and upright in the hard wooden chair, Jotham looked around anxiously. He could only see three of the walls, and the ceiling, if he craned his neck upwards, but that was enough to make him very uneasy indeed. They were grey and bare - not silver grey, but a horrible murky grey, that made it seem like everything was closing in on him. The room was rectangular; not at all wide; there was perhaps a metre between him and the nearer two walls, but it was extremely lengthy; probably about fifteen metres long.

If you look in the Sayre park art room, you might see someone standing in there painting or drawing or maybe even sculpting with clay. She is very elegant and friendly. But who is she?

Soggy streets, bland houses, and terrified citizens fill Rivertown, Virginia. Dark, gloomy weather has been rampaging since the death of a freshman at Rivertown High School, six months ago. The leafy, emerald pines that make up the forests of this small city, have been dulled by the rain and lightning. These forests are now considered dangerous due to the mud, roots, and the hills that are scattered across the land. Disappearances of more high schoolers in the area have the whole state terrified.

I look up towards the sky and see dark clouds rolling across the sky towards the west where the sounds of gunfire could be heard off in the distance. I look around the cramped bunkhouse and see the other prisoners. The bunkhouse is cold and smells of rotting flesh and human waste. The beds are made of cheap wood and thin cloth with some hay for a mattress. The guards walk in and start telling people to wake up. I slowly get out of my wooden bed out onto the muddy floor. My feet feel cold as they touch onto the earth below. My hands start to hurt from the cuts covering them when I try and get up. I see a man refusing to get out of his bunk near the entrance of the bunkhouse. The guards saw him refusing to follow their orders and dragged

We got out of the car and the second I shut the door out came the Lopez family. She said to me “Theres no way in this entire world that I could do to repay you for raising this money to keep my family safe in a home that has secure walls and a door with a lock on it.” “Here i find myself thinking that if anyones life is going to be changed, its mine, and I'm so grateful for this opportunity” I replied. As the day goes on children from all over the community are coming over to the house begging us to play soccer with them, braid there hair, and take pictures with them. My heart was filled with so much joy Putting so much hard work into something and being able to say that not only did your hard work pay off for yourself, but it paid off for

Alpha Zero, or Zero as he simply called himself was filled with hatred, the experiments done on him and his kind filled him with rage. These scientists had no right to destroy his kind. Alpha Two, a female of his kind, had just succumbed to death after another round of torture was used to determine how much she could withstand. She had been born of the same batch of experiments as he was, basically in canine standards she was his litter mate.

Simon woke to a screeching in his ears. It was all he had been able to hear for the past week. His head ached as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He yawned, eyed his now useless alarm clock, and realized he had over-slept. Rushing to get dressed, he read the notes his mother had left for him--reminding him to eat breakfast and empty out the dishwasher--before grabbing a poptart and running to school. As he ran, he noticed he was getting a call from Diana. He rejected it and continued his path to Greenburrow High School.