Writer's Group Elsie Locke Analysis

“Where should we walk to?” I asked. “I don’t know” said Megan. Elizabeth chimed in saying “let’s just walk around seeing where we end up.” The three of us walked around, and ended up at the playground at Olmsted Elementary School. It was chilly out, but you only needed a sweatshirt. The playground was spooky at night. It felt like someone was hiding waiting for

The lady slowly turns around and I glare into her bloodshot eyes as she mutters, “Oh silly little girl, you are not going home

It was a clear tranquil London evening, warmer than you would expect in mid fall. At this late hour these streets were completely vacant, with only the street lamps and occasional shop window illuminating the road. The only sound was the pounding of sneakers frantically hitting the pavement. With every step the noise grew louder, bringing the woman closer to the street and,she prayed, safety.

Dawn’s early morning light crept over the city, the various shades of amber emanating from the horizon bringing life to the shapeless skyline. Outside Booker’s apartment, the resident sparrows began their morning song of joy, their cheerful chirrup filtering through the dark-haired officer’s dream, pulling him toward consciousness. Moments later, his alarm sounded, the annoying bee-dee-dee-deep, bee-dee-dee-deep shattering what remained of his slumber. With a sigh, he rolled over and hit the off button, returning peace to the cramped room, and stifling a yawn, he speculated about the upcoming day. He’d arranged to meet Tom at the abandoned warehouse before school so they could discuss strategies. But after the previous night’s events, he wasn’t sure where their friendship

“What the hell am I going to do now?” the reality sets in as a loud pounding noise is heard advancing up the street coming his way. The spotlight passes through the streets, moving in a timely fashion up and down the road and then against the buildings probing up the walls searching for something. One spotlight is coming from a large building about a block away, north of his location. Watching the streets from the darkened and watery alley, he stays put, careful not to be discovered knowing if he is spotted, it’s over.

The streetlights flickered every other minute, as the sun hid behind the clouds, keeping the town a bit gloomy. I continued walking, unsure of where to go, but desperate to get back home. As I walked, I could hear laughing children echo all around me, and then the indistinct sound of the melody of the song echoed along with them. Looking ahead, I saw something, or someone standing off in the

He had been walking somewhere on a road, in between buildings, he doesn’t know how long it’s been how long he has been walking. Night hauntingly shrouds his surroundings with darkness; the artificial lights seem so damn weak. They seem to only produce enough light to brighten a large moving box. The darkness stares him down, the cold presses against the bare skin of his arms. A hand squeezes his right shoulder he can feel the warmth through his shirt.

“Alright Leslie, you’re here!” some lady exclaimed. The whole town was in a type of quiet unison. It was implausibly light outside despite the fact that it was only 6 in the morning. The streets were flawlessly black with no cracks whatsoever. It was so peaceful considering that it was 200 people outside and Leslie was quite frightened by it.

My buddy Earl, the homeless guy that thought I was Queen Elizabeth, tried to flag me down near the entrance. He wanted to kiss my hand again this morning, I surmised, but now was not the time for such chivalry. The glowing yellow arches were the only thing in my sight as the door gave way easily and I bust into the lobby. Fortunately, it was empty enough that the judgement wouldn't be oozing from the stares of our customers: "Oh, this skinny ginger kid has shot through the front door like that. What's his

read Oliver Twist and I knew that London, real London not suburbia, was the place

I paid for my food and left. Taking a short walk I stopped outside a building of flats. Chrome identifies the building to be my final destination. Rounding the back of the building to the service road I search profusely for my entrance point. Pulling my dark hooded jumper that matches my black combat pants and boots. The second floor window was open, allowing the cool night breeze waffle through the apartment. I climbed on to the commercial bin and hoisted myself into the room. Landing gracefully on the floor I searched my surroundings, orientating

Iris looked at me with confusion as I held the doorknob of a shabby building, daring myself to twist it. The front wall stood out suspiciously against the almost clinical utopia that surrounded it for miles and miles - you look to the right, there were rolling green hills that in the past would have been called fake, and on the left, a glistening blue sea and tall as can be skyscrapers. Ten years ago, where we just were a few minutes ago, you'd never see any of this - it was a sleepy city with not much going for it, but it's all hustle and bustle now.

Burnt homes, flipped cars, destroyed shops were scattered. The uncertainty that had left her earlier returned at full force as they seemed to move away from the populated area. After about another ten minutes of driving, they came to a stop. ‘At be twenty doll’rs the old cab grunted out. Liana gave the grumpy old man the money and exited the car with her things. In front of her stood a gloomy, run-down ill maintained two story house. The house looked abandoned as if it held no life. The doors and windows were covered in a thick layer of dust. The window panels look rotten and ready to fall off at the slightest hint of a strong wind, ivy cling to the outer wall of the house. The land surrounding the house was filled with unkempt undergrowth.Liana urged herself forward and came to a halt in front of the dirty covered door. Taking a deep breath she reached out and knocked on the

Back then I used to frequent the Orchard Road Carpark Hawker Centre, the place was also known as the Glutton’s Square. It was situated at an open carpark adjacent to the Specialist Shopping Centre. It was a popular eating place with people having supper even right into the early hours of the morning. There were occasions where after having supper at the centre I would sleep somewhere nearby. For instance, I have slept on the doorway of Cathay, Capitol and Orchard cinemas. I remembered one occasion I overslept at the doorway of Orchard cinema; waking up to a group of people curiously looking at me. These people were probably going to work then and must have wondered if I was alive.

The street was eerily quiet as I crossed. So was Mike. Staring at me unwaveringly, he said nothing as I approached. The crow's feet framing his eyes, the ridges in his forehead, and the crinkles in his cheeks still stand out in my mind. How many nights had he lain on that bench, covering his face as the wind whipped against it? Now he hugged his body tightly. He was wearing an old pair of tan khakis, a shirt that I couldn't see clearly, and a light multi-colored jacket, its sleeves ending above his pale wrists, that was just slightly too small and clung to his body. As I gave him the money in my wallet, he took it--slowly--and stared at it for a second in disbelief. Although the street in front of the library is usually an amalgam of car horns, headlights, whining engines throughout the night, nothing--not