|
Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 3, 2011 22:29:40 GMT
Poor Harry and Robert After reformatting I actually only have one story on my laptop :/ “What is it you want?” “To talk,” Logan said casually, while Scarlett still mimicked her master. “I have nothing to say to you.” It was odd to see them bickering, one so calm, the other edgy, and me acting as the invisible onlooker. I’d assumed they’d kept in contact (even if sparingly) over the last few weeks, thinking that perhaps Scarlett and Sapphire wouldn’t act so juvenile, yet it had come to this, picking sides.
|
|
|
Post by legrande on Aug 6, 2011 3:25:34 GMT
This is probably full of mistakes. I can't sleep so I wrote this instead. *insomnia rules* The cold wind whipped around his ears, bringing with it tiny flakes of snow which bit into his cheeks. His gloveless hands felt like blocks of ice, waxy and unresponsive from the cold. He struggled to turn the collar of his jacket up with them; in a vain attempt to keep from getting colder. He shivered, stamping his feet anxiously, and beginning to panic. What if she wasn't in? What if he'd come all this way for nothing? "Come on!" He pleaded quietly to himself, "Please answer the door! Please be in!" He was beginning to give up hope. What an idiot he'd been. He knocked on the door for a final time. When no answer came, he sagged, defeated. He slumped down onto the top step and buried his face in his hands. He felt warm tears forming in his eyes, but blinked them away furiously. He wouldn't cry. He couldn't. He was contemplating what to do next, when suddenly the front door of the house flew open. He shifted round on the step when he heard the noise, and caught side of his aunts form, outlined by the orange glow of the lights behind her.
"What is the-" she began ferociously, before tapering off at the sight of the forlorn boy on her doorstep. Her tired eyes peered at him as he scrambled to his feet. When she could see him clearly, she let out a gasp of recognition. The anger drained from her face, and replaced by a shocked look. "Michael?" she questioned slowly, ignoring the foul weather blowing her dressing gown about. Instead she shook her head in disbelief "Michael, that can't be you!" She paused for a moment, her face contorted with confusion and worry. "What the Hell are you doing here?"
|
|
|
Post by Caitlin on Aug 9, 2011 11:20:34 GMT
This sucks, badly. I couldn't sleep, felt like writing but then got quickly bored of it ^__^.
“It was back in 07’, did a couple of tapes,” Sara stood in front of the makeup, adding the finishing touches to her made-up face, listening to ‘I’m The Best’ by Nicki Minaj. She smiled, and then stood straight with her legs open a bit. She started shaking her hips to the beat, and lip syncing, watching herself in the mirror closely, “I’m the best, doin’ it, doin’ it, I’m the best.”
She lowered the volume of her iPod, giving herself one more look over as she grabbed her purse and left the room. She was trying to get rid of her hyper energy, wondering how she got it. Possibly from her date in a couple of hours with her boyfriend? She hadn’t seen Jake in months, and she was ready to jump into his arms and tell him how much she kissed him. Relishing in the idea of seeing Jake soon, she left the house threw the front door, stretching her arms and looking up at the bright, morning sun.
|
|
|
Post by legrande on Aug 10, 2011 9:39:11 GMT
I must have written this back when I was about 11, I just found it in the backup files from my old PC... I didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. It was half-past eight in London, 7th September, one of the first night time air-raids of The Blitz, year 1940. Mandy Franklin had only been asleep for half an hour when the air-raid sirens began to shriek and her mother, Jane, came running into her room, holding a candle. "Quick, Mandy, get up, and run out to the anderson! The Germans are coming!" "Did you tell Jake?" "Yes Mandy, Jake's already running down! Oh Mandy, come on, they'll be here soon, darling!" Mandy quickly picked up her teddy bear and followed Jane outside to the shelter. Jake was stood by the shelter when they got down. "Oh Jake, I told you to stay inside!" "Sorry, Mum, but you took slightly longer than usual. I was worried." They all went inside the little bomb shelter. It was very cold. Jake pulled the door shut. The candle lit the place up a little bit. Jane smiled cheerfully. "Well, thats us in for another night! Who knows, it might not be as bad tonight!" She said. "Yes, maybe not!" Jake agreed, with the same forced cheerfulness. Mandy yawned "You think?" She asked wearily. "I know." said her mother, "Mandy, darling, I think you should get some rest while it's still quiet."
Mandy nodded and settled down on the pile of old rugs that they used as a matress, to get a little sleep before the bombs began to fall. After about five minutes of complete silence, the other two began to talk quietly, so not to wake her. "Oh, Jake, I'm so glad that Mandy's going away tommorrow." Jane sighed. "Yeah, me too." "Jake, you can still go too, you're only fourteen. Thats not too old you know!" "I don't care Mum, I'm not going. I'm not leaving you by yourself!" "I'm fine! I'm capable of looking after myself! You are just so stubborn at times! Don't you see that is the one way that you'll have definate safety?.....In fact, you're g-" she began. "I'm not going! You can't make me, and you won't! I'm-" but his words were cut off by a distant crash. The bombers had come.
|
|
|
Post by Samantha on Aug 11, 2011 0:08:23 GMT
The scent of hospital disinfectant roused him from his troubled sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, and blinked as they became accustomed to the dim light. As he remembered where he was, a sudden pang of guilt and sadness shot through his body. He knew that he was one of the lucky ones. He knew that only seven of the twelve pilots who'd flown out over the channel from his squadron had returned. Three had been picked up from the sea, himself included. Harry couldn't forget the moment when he was told that Robert was missing. Lost over the channel. No one knew what had become of him. Harry knew what it was to be shot, and it was all he could do to hope that by some miracle, Robert had survived. Harry was fighting a different battle now. A battle of survival. I love that. She wasn't even looking at me. Rather, she was looking at herself—in the mirror. She wore nothing but a pair of white cotton underwear, her hands slowly stroking her large stomach. She was at least eight months pregnant.
"D-Danielle?"
"I can feel her kick; she's actually kicking inside of me," she said, her voice soft and smooth. It was so lovely to listen to. "Nikki, come here. Feel this. It's our daughter."
"Our daughter?" I repeated breathlessly. But she didn't even hear me. I could see the corners of her mouth, turned up into a slight smile. I didn't move.
"Come here," she urged. She moved her hands up her stomach, rested them above the hump. "We made this child, Nikki—you and me. We're going to be parents. Is that not what you wanted?"
I continued to shake my head, unable to remember having started. "It's what we wanted, Danielle. We talked about this."
She laughed carelessly. "Oh, you're right; you're always right. After all, it takes two to make a baby, does it not?" Her laughter subsided, replaced by a peaceful smirk. "Do you think I look beautiful like this? Pregnancy does agree with me, doesn't it?"
"Very much, Danielle."
"The doctor says that I'm due any day now. My God, I feel like I'm ready to explode. We really do need to think of names, Nikki."
"Names?"
"For our daughter. I'd like something unique, like Nala or Phoebe. You don't hear those every day. Or we can name her after you, Nikolai, if that’s what would please you. Nichola. That's pretty, isn't it?"
I glared at her. A whisper escaped my throat. "Why are you doing this to me?" The words were intended to hurt her, just like hers had hurt me. "What did I do to deserve this? I did nothing, Danielle. Nothing!" I took a step towards her, another and another. I let my hand reach for her, felt it as my fingertips brushed over the soft skin of her stomach. In the mirror, only my reflection stared back at me—one set of cold, lonely eyes. Danielle was nowhere in the picture.
"I hate you," I whispered viciously. I slid my arms around her torso, enveloping her in my embrace. "You left me alone in this world, Danielle, with nothing. You died and killed me, too. Do you even realize that? My God, Danielle, I should really hate you for that."
She laughed easily, a laugh that filled the entire room and sent shivers down my spine. "For whatever it's worth, Nikolai," she began evenly, her face transforming to something evil, "I really did hate you, too."
--The Illusion, Chapter Five
|
|
Brianna
Mute
Climbing one mountain at a time.
Posts: 34
|
Post by Brianna on Aug 11, 2011 0:37:05 GMT
Nothing specail. Just what I have of Golden Flames Chap 8 WARNING: None of this may make sense. Her eyes slowly lifted from the blurriness. A pair of gray eyes was pleading for her well-being as they hovered over her frail body. Ellyn's head was positioned in the person's lap, which was clearly a man. She blinked a couple of times before she opened her mouth to speak. "Isaiah?" She whispered. "Gabriel." What had provoked her to immediately think it was him? She shook her head a few times, trying to free her mind from that possibility. The blonde stopped suddenly when a sharp stinging pain shot through one of the many blood vessels in her brain. Ellyn pressed her weak hand to her forehead. "Ouch." "That is what I thought." He smiled down at her. "If I had not gotten there in time that TV would have smashed you to pieces." "You saved me?" He nodded. She looked up at the twin, studying him carefully. Although her mind was still cloudy with some shadiness, she could easily tell there was something different about Gabriel compared to his brothers. His voice was not deep and putative like his siblings. It sounded like he hadn't used his vocal cords in years. Each time he spoke, his hands would quiver, like they were fighting with the brain waves that tell his hands when to move. All these characteristics were hitting too close to home for Ellyn. "You're deaf, aren't you?" She signed at the man and a smile arose from his scruffy beard. "Yes." He signed without speaking a word.
|
|
|
Post by Laura on Aug 11, 2011 14:42:00 GMT
I love this type of thread. Some of the things you read are better than what you'd find in a book. This is an extract from something I wrote four or five years ago. I found it recently in an old copy and laughed reading through it. ;D Briony turned to face the person she both loved and despised most in the entire world.
Connor Burke had auburn hair, medium toned skin and an ego the size of Alaska. Despite being such a vile person (not that he thought he was), Connor would always have friends. Firstly because, if you weren’t his friend, you were his enemy and that was a position nobody wanted to be in. Secondly, Connor was rich – the Burkes owned Mysteria Dales. His grandfather had even founded the very middle school Connor and Briony attended.
It was great being Connor’s friend – even though he was arrogant, mean, infatuated with himself and a bully, it could not be said that he was not generous. The members of his inner circle of friends (few as they were) had received plentiful gifts – expensive presents. And Connor was a good laugh, if you managed to put up with his shortcomings. However, if you weren’t a friend of his, if he disliked you, then he made your school life hell on earth.
Connor didn’t like Briony.
She decided that attack was the best form of defense. “What do you want Connor?”
She tried to sound brave, confident and intimidating, tried to leak acidic disdain into her voice, tried to act like one of those bold girls on TV and in her favorite books. But she ended up sounding nervous, meek and absolutely terrified – which is how she actually felt. Her question came out as a tiny squeak; she sounded like a petrified mouse.
Guess who was the cat. “Oooo, I’m soooo scared!” cried Connor, pretending to cower away from Briony. “Whatcha going do to me, Turner? Huh? Beat me up?” He roared with malicious laughter. Briony couldn’t – or wouldn’t – hurt a fly. And god, did he know it.
Connor grinned at her in what would be a friendly way if it hadn’t been him smiling. “So,” he began conversationally. The entire chapter is here.
|
|
|
Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Aug 12, 2011 15:08:04 GMT
The world around Ayden began to come into focus as he made his way, bleary eyed and seething over the lack of liquor left, toward the door where someone was rhythmically banging once more. He unlocked it and let it fall open; beating down the part of his mind that remained optimistic… she wasn't coming.
|
|
|
Post by Zoe on Aug 24, 2011 5:08:54 GMT
The floors were so sleek she could see her own reflection in them. Her own reflection... A figure decked out in a navy suit reflected off the floor. West's head lifted lazily. Her fingers unconsciously pulled her hood further over her face. "Why aren't you in uniform?" The question was useless--he already knew the reason. West peeked at him from under her hood. His eyes sparkled with a certain happiness--something she hadn't seen in a long time. West looked back down at the tiled floors, which shone in the sunlight. Tamaki tried a new approach. West grunted as Tamaki's long, nimble fingers wrapped around her arm tightly. Her resistance was futile as he pulled her down, down the long corridor, not stopping even as West slashed at his arms wildly, refusing to go with him. It didn't matter what she did. He wasn't letting her go this time.
|
|
|
Post by Caitlin on Sept 5, 2011 22:11:07 GMT
“Destiny? Come on, wake up already.” I opened my mouth slightly as I could feel his fingers touch my cheek, trailing down towards the corner of my lip. I could feel him getting closer, kissing me gently on the mouth and pressing himself closer to me. “You’ve been asleep for so long. I loved watching you sleep, but it’s getting a little late and I miss speaking with you.” I rolled over on my side, shoving my face into the pillow, protesting. I smiled to myself, listening to him sigh, “Fine, have it your way! We both know how this is going to end, you goof.” I could hear the laughter in his voice as he gently took hold of my wrists in his one hand and flipped me onto my back. I made a little gasp, opening my eyes wide as he grinned and kissed me. Laughing, he sat me up and pressed my face into his chest, holding me close to him. I sighed happily, adjusting myself so I was as close as I could be to him, gripping his shirt a little, hating the material between the both of us. “Told you I would win” he murmured into the top of my head, smoothing my hair down and resting his cheek on me. I giggled, smiling. “I love you” I whispered, feeling the warmth and love come from my voice as I said the honest, dead truth to him. I froze, worried that I shouldn’t have said this, worried that he didn’t love me back. I sat there, waiting for his response, as I tilted my face up to look at him. He held nothing but warmth in his dark brown eyes, and he smiled, stroking my cheek. “I love you too, Destiny. You are so perfect, and I am so happy I found you. I still don’t exactly think I deserve you,” he trailed off, laughing slightly at the death glare I gave him, “but oh well. I’m selfish, and even though I think that I want you to be mine and that’s what I hope you’ll be.” He started to stand up and I protested, letting out a little whimper and holding him closer to me. He took my arms gently and pulled them off of him, looking me in the eyes. “I have to go Destiny, my father will be waiting at home. Don’t worry; I’ll be back, okay? Besides,” he said, looking back at me and winking, “I’m sure your mother and father will be extremely happy to see me here this late at night when they get back from the hospital.” My eyes widened momentarily, remembering that my new baby brother would soon be here, alive in the world. I looked down at my hands, clenching and unclenching them in my lap. “He is not my dad.” I said, glaring down. He stood before me in an instant, taking my hands in his and holding them to his chest, placing them over his heart. “I will always be here Destiny, okay? I’ll be here later for you, I promise. I’ll take you away from this house and we can go get a bite or something, but I have to go. I’m sorry, Destiny, I truly am.” He gave me a worried look, and the hurt in his eyes stabbed my heart. I didn’t want him to hurt because of me. Trying to conjure up a smile, I looked up at him and whispered, “Alright, I’ll see you later. I’ll be holding you to that promise, and don’t think you’ll get away with it easily if you break it.” Soon, too soon, he was gone. I lay down on my side, putting my one hand over my mouth in case I was going to start crying. I didn’t want to be too loud; my Grandmother was in the other room. I shut my eyes tightly, knowing that he wouldn’t be coming back later. His father would be furious that he hadn’t gone home that night, and it would be my fault that his father would strike his beautiful face. I had insisted that he stay, stay here so I could relish in his warmth and comfort. He had had a worried look on his face, but he decided to give me my way because he wanted to always give me what I wanted. I wondered why I did that, wondered why I always made him choose me over everything else. I could feel the tears coming now, though I honestly didn’t know why I was crying at this point. I sat up almost instantly, fear stretched out upon my face. Something… didn’t feel right. Something… well, something was missing. I looked around my room, jumping up and grabbing clothes at the random. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I had to act, and act fast. After I had finished dressing I ran into my Grandmother’s room. “Grandma, Grandma! Please, wake up!” I shook her hard, and she gave me the death glare as I rushed her into her bathrobe and made her drive me around the streets. “Now Destiny, wait just one minute!” she said angrily, stifling a yawn as she turned yet another corner, “I don’t know where we are going or why you are being so persistent. What on earth are you looking for, exactly?” I looked up the street, feeling in my heart still that something had gone awfully wrong. Finally, I saw it… and I knew deep down that he was in there. He was hurt, he was dead, he was something. All I knew for sure was that he was gone.
|
|
|
Post by legrande on Sept 6, 2011 21:50:39 GMT
It had been a cold, grey kind of day. The sky had been murky black, the kind of sky that threatened rain, but refused to let any fall. Robert had gone out, to buy the daily newspapers, if he remembered rightly. He had been happy to get out of the small red brick house that he still lived in with his parents. His mother had been in a sour mood, his father had been restless, and the two of them had been bickering all morning. Robert would have used any excuse to get away from them. He had donned a jacket and his flat cap and decided to go for a short walk into town, in the hopes that they'd have calmed down by the time he got home. It had all gone well, he supposed, nothing extraordinary had happened in the time it had taken him to walk to the newsagents. The weather had been unpleasant, however.
As he had begun his journey home, the newspaper tucked firmly under one arm, a cold wind had picked up. He'd turned the collar of his overcoat up, and quickened his pace. He'd rubbed his hands together as he went, trying to kindle some warmth into them. It wasn't a very pleasant day for a walk. As he'd passed the town hall, he'd noticed the large crowd of people --mainly men-- who were heading inside. Intrigued, he'd followed suit, ducking into the room to find out what was going on- and to escape the cold. As soon as he'd made his way inside, he realised what was going on. There were men sat behind desks, with large registers, talking to long queues of men. The bare walls of the hall were decorated with dozens of recruitment posters. These people were 'signing up'. They were joining the forces. Without thinking, his newspapers forgotten, Robert had gone to find out more. He had become caught up in the excitement of the moment, he had signed up without even meaning to. Still, that was war for you. This was where Robert found himself now, nearly four months later. A fully-fledged member of the RAF fighter command, going into his first real flight.
|
|
|
Post by Caitlin on Sept 16, 2011 0:27:13 GMT
I have to write a short story for my Grade 10 English class. This is the beginning of it. All that could be heard was the scratching of pen against paper. The room was quite dark, the only thing giving me writing light was the moon shining in through the window. It was a little difficult to see what I was writing, but I had done it so many times by then it wasn’t all that hard. I looked at my clock, reading the numbers on display. It read twelve; midnight. I went back to my scrawling, scowling slightly at my sloppy writing. I had always wished I could write smaller and neater like my younger sister Melissa. Finishing off the last sentence, I smiled down at my work. Perfect, a well-detailed journal entry of my daily events. I hopped out of bed to slip my journal under my mattress, and then curled up under the sheets in my bed again. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to hit me, but it wouldn’t come, so I just lay there looking up at the ceiling.
After a while I realized that tomorrow was Sunday. I would have to be awake in a couple of hours to get ready for church. Sighing to myself, I thought about my dislike towards my religion. My parents loved it, believing strongly in the Catholic faith and attempting to raise me up to love it as much as they did. The thing is though, I don’t exactly agree with it. “God” just wasn’t my thing, but I had always kept quiet about it since I didn’t want to cause trouble for myself or my family. Anyone who disagreed with the Catholic faith in this town was asking for trouble.
While I had been thinking about that I must have drifted off, seeing as I awoke to my younger sister shoving me out of my bed. “Come on, wake up already! Mom’s been calling you for five minutes, you need to get ready.” Melissa huffed angrily; crossing her arms and watching me pick myself up off the floor. “Thanks for offering to help me up,” I muttered, then cleared my throat and said, “Tell her I’ll be down in a little bit, I have to get ready.” I watched as the dark rain cloud that was my sister left the room, letting out a huge sigh of relief. Melissa hated waking up early, and I’m pretty sure she hated our faith as much as I did; except they probably were for completely different reasons.
My parents had offered me a ride home but, like always, but I decided I would walk home like usual. Taking off my shoes and holding them in my hands, I started the long walk; my now-bare feet hitting the wet sidewalk. It was raining, and the raindrops felt beautiful on my face. I thought about the mass and just sighed, shaking my head slightly. The priest didn’t know what he was talking about in my opinion, but I would just play along. Soon enough I would be eighteen and I’d be able to leave this small town of Oakfield and go on my own adventures. Oakfield was way too religious for my likes, and too small for my adventurous needs. I wanted to get to know the world, and it was clearly impossible in this place.
I had been looking down at my feet for a while and suddenly ran into someone. Falling back, I landed hard on the cement, my skirt getting soaked. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.” The man standing before me held out his hand. Huffing my breath out, I glared at him as I took his hand and got back on my feet. My skirt was ruined, my mother would be angry at me. Flushing slightly with anger and embarrassment, I raised my head and began to stalk off towards home. I was close, but the man grabbed my arm and held me there. “Wait,” he began, looking at a loss for words as I turned to face him, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have been standing in the way.” He smiled slightly, and I sighed. “No, it’s my fault” I admitted, “I should have been looking where I was going.”
He laughed, and I studied his appearance. Dark, short brown hair, forest green eyes, glasses that suited him well. I wondered how he could see through them, though, since it was raining and they were all fogged up. All in all, though, he was rather handsome and he was quite new-looking, which was odd in Oakfield. I usually knew everyone, having seen them every Sunday all my life. He held out his hand, “Thomas Garrison” he stated curtly. I took his hand, shaking it slightly and then bringing my hand back down as I felt the electricity zap through the two of us. “Uh, Emilie Jones.” I began fidgeting, looking down at my feet. I was standing in a puddle now, and I suddenly felt extremely cold and clammy. I shivered, and Thomas looked at me worriedly. “Let’s get you inside, there’s a coffee shop a little while away.” I knew, and accepted his offer happily.
|
|
|
Post by LadyofShalott on Sept 26, 2011 20:56:51 GMT
We had to write a three paragraph story for my english comp class the other day. But we could only use one syllable words. This is what I came up with. It's harder than it looks, trust me...
The rain hit on the glass with a soft tap, tap. It had been like that for some time, not hard, but not light. The sky was dark and full of deep black clouds, now and then broke by a strike of light. It was a damp day, and the child at the pane thought so too.
She stared at the sheets of rain in the air with a frown. It was the end of the week, almost May, and all she could think of was her bare feet in the cool green grass, the warm air on her skin, and the blue sky that stretched abover her head that could never end. But when she woke up that day, the grass was dull, the air was cold, and the sky was dark. She sat on the couch since then; she knew it would have to stop soon so she could play.
The rain let up a bit and her heart leapt. Just a bit more and she could go out. Just a bit more and her day would be great. But soon the rain grew hard again and a small piece of her hope shrunk. The young girl looked out the glass pane with a frown as the rain hit on it with a soft tap, tap...
|
|
|
Post by Amy (In America - Busy atm) on Oct 10, 2011 14:16:58 GMT
*revives thread*
Ayden was a trap. No matter how many dates I went on or men I found myself involved with, it didn't match up. They treated me like a princess; showered me in gifts, adorned me with fine clothing and promised me the perfect fairy-tale. They wanted to take care of me. They never wanted to offend me. They hid from arguments like cowards and had adapted to telling women they were right purely for conjugal rights. They took me places and laughed at my jokes, complimented me in my weakest hour and mixed well with my family.
|
|
|
Post by Samantha on Oct 14, 2011 1:02:35 GMT
Something that I really need to get around to finishing: Late October, and the world is changing.
It is in the middle of a dying field that a pack of young boys stand with sweat dripping down their creased foreheads and frozen breath streaming from their parted mouths. They breathe heavily, panting, all six of them—friends for the longest time, foes for the time being. They are all exhausted, but no one dares to be the first to admit to tiring. They are boys; they are young men. But their shoulders sag, and their chins rest on their chests, eyes peering up at their neighbors from behinds curtains of overgrown hair. Rich browns, coppery oranges, pale blondes—they mirror the change that is taking place around them, a change that is presently the crunch beneath their sneakers as the boys break from the pack. They split into their respective teams, predetermined and unchanging; a ball is placed in the grass between them, and each of the six takes his starting stance.
Late October, and the world is changing.
It is on blanket beside a dying field that two young girls watch a pack of boys advancing in one direction down the grass, passing a football between them, their shouts rising to the autumn sky above their heads. The two girls sit with another blanket wrapped around their bent shoulders, head pressed together, and each clutching a warm mug of hot chocolate to her body. Neither shows a preference, and they both cheer for whichever team manages to get the ball to its end zone. They are cold and they are shivering, but their laughter keeps them from realizing how numb their bodies really are.
--Late October
|
|