Posts Tagged ‘Creative writing’

This is an assignment I had to do for my Creative Writing class. The assignment was to describe a room, and through that description the reader must learn, assume or understand something about the character who inhabits the room but is absent in the piece. Enjoy!

It was a quaint sized room. Small and confined not only by its size, but also the growing amount of objects filling the once open space. A dresser stood to the right of the door with partly opened, vacant drawers. The top of the dresser was stacked high with pictures of a man and a woman with vibrant smiles. The pictures were suffocated by the thick layer of dust that consumed the room. Next to the dresser was a desk. It appeared to be handmade by an unexperienced craftsman. The desk slanted sharply to the right, there was a small cupboard on the lower left side that had a door that was too small for its opening. There was an array of paint spatter on the top of the desk that could be faintly seen under the dust. In the right corner of the desk was a small, childish, crayon drawing of a car. There was no chair accompanying the desk, no papers or books covered the top.

A bed was pressed tightly against the left wall. The frame was metal, spray painted a metallic blue, but appeared grey as the dust too had made its home on the metal bars. A sliver of a yellow stained mattress could be seen through the piles of clothes, blankets and towels that spilled over the sides of the bed. It was a volcano of fabric ready to erupt at any moment. It was unstable and delicate. Every piece placed carefully as not to disrupt the fragile mountain.

The walls were an off white colour further distorted by the coating of dust that stuck to them like a second layer of paint. A single picture frame hung crooked on the left wall. The frame contained an image of a man, a woman and a small boy posing for a family photo. They were standing in front of a house, their arms wrapped around each other, smiling brightly.

The floor was a sea of musty clothes, shoes, toys, beads, newspapers, and an array of take out garbage. A lonely spotless path parted the sea of chaos that filled the floor. The path started at the door and lead to a small clearing just the right size for a single body. The clearing was placed directly in front of a bookshelf that reached to the ceiling. The bookshelf sparkled. Miraculously, not a speck of dust had settled anywhere on the dark cherry wood varnish. The shelves were straight and the base sat flat against the floor; it was a solid piece of craftsmanship. The moulding was filled with intricate designs of flowers, each one carved individually by artisan hands. Not a single book was placed on the shelves but a black leather journal lay neatly in the clearing. A piece of twine attached to the journal which attached to a pen. The journal and pen were both engulfed with the same layer of dust that had blanketed the room. On the very bottom left wall of the bookshelf was a poem burned into the wood,

To my darling,

may one day the words you craft,

be bound together and placed on these shelves,

for all eyes to read and all hearts to enjoy.

Love, M Jan 2, 1996

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White

Posted: April 22, 2012 in story, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

This is the beginning of a story I started to write. The story ended up morphing/growing into something else and this no longer fit with the idea, but I really loved this opening and even though it’s not finished and slightly abrupt I still had the urge to share it with you all.

White. White. White. White walls, white ceiling, white floor. If a color could make a person go crazy, white, would be that color.

White clock, white pen, white file. White.

Sitting surrounded by all the blankness that is the color white made her anxiety grow stronger.

Tick.

Tick, tick, tick.

If an object could make a person go crazy, a clock would be that object. As if people didn’t notice the passing of time enough, they had to add an insidious ticking sound to keep you informed of every second lapsing.

The combination of the whiteness and ticking was pushing her over the edge. She closed her eyes to avoid the horrid glare and lifted her hands to hers ears. She tried to relax but that was a lost cause she hadn’t felt relaxed since she was five. After years of emotional distress she had virtually lost the entire concept of what it meant to relax. Her hands began to sweat and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t sit there much longer, she began to bounce her knees, nausea crept up into her stomach like a familiar stranger lurking in the shadows. She wouldn’t be able to last any longer, she needed to get out of there before she hurled all over the ugly white walls. Just as she was about to get up a muffled voice saved her and pulled her back into reality.

“Ms. Brooks?” A hand reached out and touched her shoulder, she flinched and opened her eyes, she stared at the woman stunned by her contact.

“Ms. Brooks, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”

She couldn’t put together any words just a simple vertical nod. The woman, a short redhead, with far too much make-up for her age, scurried across the white floor with her white sneakers; they squeaked as the rubber collided with the linoleum. She reached the water cooler, filled a cup and shuffled her way back, squeak, squeak, squeak. Tick, tick, white.

“Here you go Ms. Brooks,” she held the cup in front of her face.

White. A white cup.

How did she expect her to drink water out of a white cup? White is what go her into this position. She took one look at the cup and without thinking swatted it out of the redhead’s hand. Oxygen was simultaneously extracted from the air and pulled into everyone’s lungs, a gasp was heard from all mouths.

“I’m sorry, I just– I just don’t like the color white,” she stammered, sounding slightly confused by her confession.

“No need to explain Ms. Brooks, I don’t like it either. Dr. Willows will see you now.”

She rose from the chair, but she couldn’t move forward. She was stuck in this white box, that ticked, that squeaked, that blinded. The box held her, consumed her and deprived her of rational thought.

Tick. Tick. White.

This story has been haunting me, these characters are so real, honest and true to me. I cried when I wrote this part. I realized these people are so much a part of me and this is a story I need to tell and it is a story that will be told, my mind will accept nothing less. Here is another blurb from Gray Hayles: (I apologize for not including names but I would like to keep some things a secret so when I finish the story all of it isn’t known)

As we walked underneath the canopy of stars, I wrapped my arm around her waist. Holding her hand was not enough anymore, I had to have her closer, nearer, soaking in all the warmth of her love she so freely radiated. She was like my own personal sunshine, penetrating me with constant rays of love, compassion and kindness. I felt her slide her hand up my neck, she pulled me in close locking her chocolate gaze on mine. She gently pressed her velvet lips against mine, my hands began to tingle and my knees went weak. I squeezed her waist tighter, desperately trying to keep myself from falling into her body. Just then she pulled away and looked me deep in the eye. She drew in a deep breath, smiled that glorious smile and said, “Thank God I met you, ” she uttered the words with such conviction.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain at the base of my skull, as I fell to the ground I heard her scream. Momentarily blinded I began to panic, my ears went silent and I was transported to a dark, warm place where I had an overt sense of happiness. I began to question am I dead? In an instant I was thrust back to reality. My eyes jolted open and my chest convulsed as I gulped air into my deprived lungs.

As things slowly came into focus I saw her face, she smiled, but as things became clearer I was struck. There was no words to describe the horror I felt in that moment. Her face was swollen and badly bruise, she had a large lump above her left cheek which was pressed awkwardly against the road. Her leather jacket was gone and her dress was torn exposing her skin which was now painted a beautiful shade of red. I examined her body for other afflictions but everything seemed intact. There was an unusual amount of blood pooling around her  head, it began to leak into the cracks in the pavement, every second rushing closer to me. She kept her brown marble eyes on me, her breathing became slower, her smile never left. I noticed my own river of blood escaping my body, creating its own streams, snaking through the road eventually merging into an ocean of blood dividing us. It was warm, like a liquid blanket protecting me from the brisk midnight air.

I tried to speak but nothing would come out, I tried to move but it was as if my muscles had left my body. My bones felt like metal rods grinding my flesh into the cement. My right arm was stretched out in front of me, I wished I could reach further and touch her face. She began to flinch and cough, then a small stream of blood fell from her mouth. Still looking at me she began to drag her arm from the side of her body. It seemed to take hours for her to reach my fingers, but she did. There we lay, our arms drowning in a cocktail of our blood. She began to cough more, choking on the flow pouring from her mouth.

I began to accept that this was it, this was how we would die. I was trying to make peace out of this knowing. I tried to be thankful for being able to share our last moments together, but I was resentful. I felt her squeeze what little of my hand she had grasped. Staring at her, I focussed all my energy on squeezing back. I must have succeeded because I saw her beautiful face display a broader smile. Within seconds of what I now know was our last embrace, she took her last breath and her lips released the crescent she had so stubbornly held. Her eyes never closed and her spirit did not abandon the earth, instead she hovered above my body raining down a gentle calm. My stare was locked on her once glistening eyes as rivers flowed from mine.

At first I began to ask for her back, begging the universe, promising my life, if only she would come back to her body, back to me. When my attempts failed I then began to ask to be taken with her, but my prayers were not answered. Instead I laid there labouring to breathe, my head throbbing in pain, my love laying there lifeless parallel to my body. I felt like I had been there for days but as I looked up I realized the canopy of stars still lit the night sky.