I wrote this originally for a Halloween creative writing competition.
I wrapped my scarf a little tighter around my face and fumbled, fingertips stinging from the late-autumn air, with the keys in my hand. The cold metal made my hand stiff as I wrestled to lock the doors. It was a particularly chilly Halloween night and I was locking up the vets for the night. Before I could get the key to turn properly, a small hand pulled on my sleeve.
Depression and other mental illnesses are a large factor in why people commit suicide. The overwhelming tiredness and lack of motivation to continue, or the constant feeling that nothing is worth anything could drive anyone into dangerous thought processes. Continue reading
This is usually a performance piece, presented as a piece of stand-up or a joke. It falls into a category of surreal humour and wordplay that works best when said aloud.
Started experimenting with syllables and wrote a few short poems where each line had one less syllable.
A short story I wrote for my second year creative writing portfolio.
The ceremonial hall was filled with students, all draped in silk robes and hair pulled neat and tightly from their faces, kneeled in straight lines on the floor with their heads bowed. The walls were decorated with ancient tapestries featuring samurai in battle, ancient scrolls telling of great battles and feats of bravery. Burning oils filled the room with a delicate flowery smell, wafting small trails of smoke around the room. On the far wall, between two stoic figures in armour, hung a vast number of weapons – mostly swords- of all sizes and colours. Each of them to be awarded.
A short story for children I wrote for my Writing for Young People class
I woke in a cold sweat, stuck to the bed sheets and my heart thumping so fast and my throat closed so tightly I thought I might be having a heart attack. I took long, slow breaths in a desperate attempt to calm my racing pulse. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the colours swirling around my vision. It took nearly five minutes for my heart to settle down. Tears prickled by eyes and I swallowed hard. It was over. I’d be okay.
An old story I wrote a while back about a character of mine. I’ll be putting up some micro fiction about him in future.
The train line was the only sign of industry out on the wastes. It ran by the town, over the brown dusty mud and off towards the mountains. Trains would rush by about twice a day, shaking and breaking up the dry ground. The edge of the tracks was lined with yellow, sparse clumps of grass that soaked up whatever dripped off the machine.
The village was not far away, nor was it very large. A young girl had made her way way onto the tracks, her bare feet stood on one of the boards. She could not have been older than five, and was waving at a small huddle of very young children who were watching her in awe. She took a long step onto the next board, then the one after. She poked her tongue out as she focused on keeping on the boards, so absorbed in keeping her balance that she didn’t pick up on the slight shake of the ground that was trying to throw her off.
As of late, I haven’t found any time to meditate or even get any writing done outside of what is needed for my upcoming deadlines. In my spare time, I’ve been reading New Paths To Animal Totems by Lupa, who discusses local environments and the totems that are close to you. It’s a highly fascinating read and I advise it to anyone looking into totemism themselves.
Now, I’ve done a lot of research into totemism, and a commonly suggested way of deciding totems to visit is the animals that are a large part of your life. Rabbits have always been an image throughout my life, presenting themselves as toys and pets. When I finally owned my own pet rabbits, I was surprised to find that they were violent and aggressive- a side to the common domestic animal I’d never seen before.
So, with all this in mind, I found myself an hour or so aside to visit Rabbit.
At this point, all things considered, I should probably care a lot more about the situation at hand than I actually do. Aisha is hyperventilating by the wall and Jeni won’t stop crying. The copper pipe is still in my hand and most of the blood has cooled by now. Like, maybe it’s just me, but the situation could be way worse than it is. You know, still taking into account the dead body on the floor.