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March 29, 2024, 11:59:37 pm

Author Topic: Creative Writing  (Read 1774 times)  Share 

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jasmineerrose

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Creative Writing
« on: March 22, 2018, 03:27:19 pm »
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Hi,
i wanted to share my creative writing to get opinions etc !

Story Title: The Night

The hospital room is a concrete pen with a window the size of a biscuit tin lid. It has a dead smell, like it's cleaned with plain water instead of disinfectant. The bed sits low to the ground, the frame bearing the signs of rust and the mattress worryingly thin. I sit and write by the window, i can barely see outside of it, but I can see enough to at least know what the weather is or what colour the trees are. As i sit in this room locked away for days on end, i tend to write about the night 30 years ago...

On Thursday, June 7th, 1951.
It was 1938. We were driving in our ford v8, the was wind howling, piling up snow in drifts, blinding the night with ice-white dust. It was our first night together in the cabin far up the mountain in sweden, our home town. I remember seeing her smile, and her deep-forest green eyes light up when she realised. If only i knew this would be the last time i’d see her smile, her forest green eyes, and the last time i’d feel her soft translucent skin. The guilt is ice in my guts. It could be a hundred degrees out and I'd still be frozen on the inside.

I saw him today. The same face I swore i’d forget. I felt my stomach drop as I became inflamed with anger as I remember the touch of his rough hands, and the smell of the rich wine from his breath as i sat in a cold warehouse in the middle of nowhere, tied to a prestigious chair that felt out of place. My feet were screaming to run away, but there I stood completely still as my mind dances back to that night.

On Saturday, July 20, 1951.
It was during the night, and i heard strange sounds, perhaps whistling. I remember investigating outside, just to reassure myself... but nothing. I turned around and there he was toying with an ivory-handled dagger. I felt it meet my flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squish, but then i was surrounded by darkness. I saw nothing, i heard nothing, i felt nothing. I remember waking up in some warehouse, it was empty.  I was looking around and i saw her frail body lifeless, covered with purple welts. I remember hearing squeals of some kind, but nothing i could imagine to mind. I heard steps echoing and i saw the familiar face, a small pouting of the lips, narrowing of the eyes and tilting of the head. Who knew this face would haunt me forever.

Continuing to wake up drenched in sweat from the same nightmare over and over, but it wasn't a nightmare, it already happened and i'm reliving these memories. Why is this happening? It feels as if God is punishing me for forgetting my trauma, for forgetting my old life, for forgetting her… I sit and pray and beg on why God wants me to rediscover this pain, Why does God want me to suffer again. Maybe I am crazy after all? Everywhere I look I see him, i feel the world go numb, and i feel my mind wander into a daydream of that night.

On Monday, August 17, 1951
Eating the raw animals while his jazz music played as he watched ever so carefully. I remember the taste of bitterness that my tongue swirled around, as I chewed the red flesh from the dead carcass for the sake of fearing for my life. I felt the room go cold and my complexion grew pale. She refused to continue with this abuse, and this when the lion roared.
Seeing him drag her by nothing but a fistful of her hair into another room. I heard her scream, it tore through me like a great shard of glass. I felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, my heart thudding like a rock rattling in a box. The scream came again. I saw him bring her out and she was covered in blood from her and the raw meat. I remember i saw her pinkies missing and spurting blood. I was crying and protesting to let us go and bribing with money.

White knuckles from clenching my fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to remain silent, My face was red with suppressed rage. Time went past in a blur, forgetting my next actions, but when I regained my sense of time…i saw my rusty bed broken, feathers everywhere from the pillows being pulled apart, walls smashed in and my hand bruised, swollen and bleeding. The thought of him, of that night is taking over me like cancer. What is happening? The thoughts are accelerating inside my head. I want them to go so I can breathe, but they won't. My breaths come in gasps and I feel like I will black out. My heart is hammering in my chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its life. The room spins and I squat on the floor, trying to make everything slow to something my brain and body can cope with. I feel so sick remembering the night.

On Sunday, December 4, 1960
Somehow i managed to untie myself and escape the warehouse. I started by hobbling myself deep into the icy forest. Dogs were hunting me, and his hounds have bayed, noticing they were chasing me. I began climbing the trees, and jumping tree to tree like a monkey, until i felt i was safe enough to stay put. While up there, i noticed some smoke, fire, and a little town, and i told myself i will go there. When i got there, i begged for help from an old lady who was shocked by my appearance but she did, and she helped me to clean, gave me clothes and a place to stay.

Few years later, i'm still apart of the town that I discovered across my escape. I sit and write by a window that is no bigger than a biscuit tin lid, in a mental institution. I can barely see outside of it, but I can see enough to at least know what the weather is or what colour the trees are. I felt a hand on my shoulder out of nowhere, I turned my head and i saw just a small pouting of the lips, narrowing of the eyes and tilting of the head...

angewina_naguen

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Re: Creative Writing
« Reply #1 on: March 23, 2018, 10:19:00 am »
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Hey, there!

I just had a skim through and could offer you some general ways to revise your creative and fine tune it  :D

Make sure you edit over your creatives as you go- Very minor things like i's not being capitalised for first person ( I ) can be off-putting to some markers.

Develop more imagery across the story- I'd love to see more sensory description and engagement throughout the story. There is great plot movement and characterisation already! With some more imagery interwoven throughout it, you can bring a new level of dimension to your story.

Considering structure- One thing I always suggest about creative writing is to make your form your own. As opposed to telling us the dates of the events in your story, allow for ambiguity to lend itself to the reader. Use dashes to break off chunks of your story and demonstrate a passing of time. Consider one sentence paragraphs as well! I think your story varies sentence length effectively and you could allow for one sentence paragraphs to really stop the reader in their tracks. It'll emphasise the highlights in your plot and allow for contemplation.

After all of these, make sure you accentuate the aspects of Discovery which you want to represent. The creative has relevance to the rubric and needs to be adaptable to different stimuli in order to ensure you achieve the best you can out of the piece. I hope this feedback helps and if you would like some more detailed comments, let me know and I'll get back to you after my exams  ;D Good luck  :D

Toodles,

Angelina  ;D
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