My Creative Writing: Prose

Hey everybody!  Since I have a few more days before my next school-related post, I thought I’d start up my creative writing posts again!  This piece I’m going to show you is the first section of my new flash fiction series.

The point of the series is partly for description practice, partly for character development practice. The characters in it will always go unnamed because I want to practice creating characters who are unique and dynamic without the help of a lot of background and history (which inevitably comes with names). We’ll see where this goes, but for now I’d love feedback on the settings and scenarios I’ve created – are they clear and easy to visualize? Does the plot make sense? Does the amount of mystery I’ve added bring confusion or suspense?

Thanks so much for reading!


In the Night – Section 1

As she walked home that dark night, the rain puddles reflected the light of what few stars could be seen in the sky above London’s great city lights.  It was pretty, she thought, but sad that so much beauty could be lost because of something that was beautiful itself: light.

She sighed, and hummed a few notes from a song written in minor chords.  A weeping song, she thought every time she heard it; a song of writhing emotion and contorted feeling.  That’s how she felt now, walking home from the party.  Funny how something of a merry nature could make one feel so contemplative and melancholy.  She smiled a little sadly at the thought.  As contrary as the sentiment might be, she loved it for its truth.

Thus lost in thought, she didn’t notice the shadow that didn’t move, the darkness that shouldn’t be, the still that shouldn’t be silent.  A smirk made the corners of his mouth lift in the dark perversion of a smile as his hands began to tremble in anticipation of his crime.

Still oblivious to her peril, she walked on, her mind lost on a cloud of intricate thoughts, her senses tuned in to the smell of rain, not the garbage that filled the alley.  Her forget-me-not eyes saw only the yellow lights shining on the craggy bricks of the buildings and the little slice of ebony sky above their spires.  Her ears heard the noise of a city full of a unique and diverse people, not the clumsy sound of a man’s footsteps treading in the pools of water she had admired not so long ago.  Her tongue vibrated with the song she sang, filling her heart with the music of a dreamer.

But all cannot happen as it was intended to, for fate is not a thing to be predicted.  It laughs at the chances it gets to use the blind side of things and mangle what might have once been order into chaos.

The feet that so innocently skipped through the puddles turned a corner, and her figure disappeared from his sight.  He growled under his breath and quickened his pace, rushing around the corner after his prey.  But there she was, still wandering in her imagining dreams, and yet… she was no longer alone.

This time she felt the presence of her pursuer, but as she turned her head, all she saw was a ragged figure breathing heavily as he leaned against the corner of the building she had just come around.  He wouldn’t dare follow her with any of his previous intentions now – she had led him away from the forbidden alleys and out onto a common but very busy street.  Vendors selling dessert pastries and beer to passers-by, taxis screeching by with their glowing yellow signs, people meandering along the cobblestoned street with scarves and long coats to cloak their individuality.  She was swallowed up in the throng, and he cursed, his resentful eyes not on her, but him.


My Creative Writing: Prose

Hello everyone!  It’s been a while since I last posted some prose, so I think it’s high time for another short story!  The one I’m going to show you was written going off of a prompt that I was given when I entered a small writing contest.  The Prompt was, “describe a dream-like moment in reality.”  This piece, “rain, rain with the sound of scarlet,” was written as a result of that prompt in April of this year.  As always, I’m very happy to get comments on my work, so thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!(:



“rain, rain with the sound of scarlet

I can hear the sweet sound of rain murmuring outside my window, a gentle music that reminds me of sleep in all its calm beauty.  So I sit by the window and rest my head on my arms, briefly looking out at the gray skies and watching the fleeing, scowling people.  Smiling, I close my glassy eyes and just listen to the sound of the rain drip-dropping into the shallow puddles on the pavement and plopping with a more deep-throated sound into the roof-top pools on the low buildings just outside my window.  A breath of rain-scented wind dances in through the half-open window, tickling my face and playing with my hair as it fills me with the fresh, earthy fragrance of falling diamonds.

I can breathe…

It’s so peaceful and beautiful, the wind and the sight and the sound and the smell of the rain (the falling tears, the shimmering crystals).  My eyelids flutter in a gust of stronger wind, my lashes making the world dark and light, dark and light again as they shut out and then let in the dim light of the day.  Dark tendrils of cloud wind and twist before my vision, making that rainy day feel magical and mystical, even though I know this is very normal weather for this place and time of year.  Yet, it’s so beautiful… I watch as the water running in mini rivers down the road is dimpled by the falling rain.  So beautiful… it makes my heart rise, and rise, and rise and, suddenly, hurt.

I can breathe water…

I feel as though the rise and swell of deep emotion moves my very being to the agony of inky death.  For ah, my heart throbs a frantic beat, and with such a fluttery speed that it threatens to beat right out of my chest, killing me in a silent, gasping death, my eyes wide, mouth agape, as soundless words rise screaming from my throat, only to die in the soundless air.

I can breathe water…

I have become nothing but a helpless instrument of emotion tied to the beautiful music of the world with ribbons of scarlet and cobalt hue, strong as the chords of love and agony, and just as vivid.  My body seems to be floating, my world perceived through half-open eyes that see the world in flashes of color and light, seeming to shimmer like gossamer silk and flitting faeries.

I can breathe water, water…

My state of mind is delicate, balancing on the knife’s edge between screaming insanity and the icy scarlet of calm.  Hooded eyes lurk within my soul, fighting to break free and clothe my eyes in their menacing glare.  My hand reaches toward something just out of reach and almost out of sight, the trembling muscles moving without my consent–

I jerk awake, startled to wakefulness by the icy chill that has my skin prickling with goosebumps.  With a rueful smile and a tired sigh, I get up from my little window-sill and blink away the sandy feeling in my eyes (the feeling you get when you’ve just woken from sleep), reaching up to tug the ear buds from my ears, and turning off the song that still floats through my head, echoing but still bright, like the memory of a tiny glowing thread of disappearing light…

I can breathe, I can breathe water, water……



My Creative Writing: Prose

Well, it’s that time again(:  But I just realized that I haven’t told y’all which pieces I picked to submit for my University’s annual student art book!  A few weeks ago, I made a post to show you guys which pieces I was considering submitting, and the deadline was the 22nd, so these are the pieces I chose: Feathered Ice, Poison, and Ink.

For this week’s piece of creative writing, then, I’ll show you the prose piece I submitted: Feathered Ice.  I posted this short story on the original post that had all the pieces I was considering submitting on it, but since that post included 6 different pieces, it probably didn’t get that much attention.  I’m not sure when I’ll know if my three pieces were included in the art book, but when I know, I’ll be sure to write a post about it!

But for now, here’s Feathered Ice.  I wrote this after a particularly cold night in November or December of last year.  It was the particularly hostile, painful cold that inspired this piece.


Feathered Ice

Snowflakes begin to fall as I walk, appearing out of the inky sky as if they were summoned for the night’s lack of silent light and feathery fantasy.  I look up to watch them float to earth, making myself dizzy trying to find the cloud that gave them life.  A smile turns up the corners of my mouth as I imagine their shimmering dances through the night’s breezy winds and frost-covered gusts.  I imagine that they are dancing around me, alighting upon me for just a moment before fading to dust as the wind eddies around me.  It pulls me into the dance with them, and tosses me from partner to partner as I laugh and revel in the beauty of the winter scene.

But the cold tonight is also biting.  The few fingers that still peak out the ends of my coat sleeves feel as if icicles with needled teeth are gnawing on them with a voracious hunger.  As I walk through the freezing night, I watch the steam rise and writhe from every exhalation, imagining that, if the temperature dropped, the air would freeze in my lungs and turn me to stone from the inside out.  I shiver and hug myself tighter, clenching my muscles in a vain effort to hold in more heat, but I realize that the night is indeed getting colder, even as I hurry my feet along the path before me.  The snow abates, ceasing its merry dance, and ice crystals take their place.  They sting my cheek, rather than kiss it.

It’s as if I can see a thermometer in my head, watching as the red liquid slowly falls, my skin feeling the cold creeping closer and closer to my stuttering heart.  The trees around me glisten with ice, and I can hear it crunching and squeaking beneath my feet.  I look down and see that the grass has frozen so hard that it sounds like glass shattering with every step.  The sound has a shriek to it, and I imagine I can hear the grass crying out in agony with every tread of my heavy feet.

Now I wish I wore my heavy snow coat, for I feel as though every single molecule of water in the air has frozen solid.  Every breath hurts now, as the needles of ice stab at my lungs with their ever-present hunger.  I can feel them inside me, jabbing with such force that I stumble, gasping for oxygen, yet I cannot breathe normally for the pain that every wheeze causes.  My feet drag now, still slowly carrying me towards my goal, but their shuffling steps crunch through even more ice grass than before, and the sound begins to deafen me with its intensity.  The shrieks pierce my skull with shards of sound, and I shriek my own scream of agony.

I can no longer feel my legs, and the world spins in whirls of blue and black as the cold takes me captive.  I can’t feel it when the blades of grass stab me—my entire body is numb.  I can’t feel the hot blood flowing from my wounds—I can’t feel my life draining away.

But it’s ok.  I realize that I am no longer cold.  My core is warm… my heart is so warm.  No more does it stutter and stumble and stammer.  Now it waltzes with the warmth, happy to be free of its restrictive beat.   My fingers give a last tingle before they too succumb to the comforting heat.  It’s making me sleepy, the warmth…  It’s so comforting, so gentle, so beautiful.  It calls to me in a voice as soothing as a mother’s coo.

The smile that glows on my blued lips and shines in my darkened eyes is but a shadow of the joy that fills my heart at the approach of warm death.  Did you know?  He wears shining white… not tattered ink.  He carries a staff, not a sickle.  When He calls your name, He does so with a smile on his lips.  And His touch is a kiss, not a blow to those who answer his call with obedience.  So what wrong is there in following a being such as He?  Death… what a cruel name to bestow on one so beautiful.  Light fills me as I feel the weight of my body being lifted, and suddenly



I am free.

My Creative Writing: Prose

Hello again, dear readers! This week, I’m going to present another piece of short prose fiction that I’ve written, and this one is a romance short story!  I wrote it last October, so quite a while ago, but I’d definitely love to hear what you think of it(:

Thanks for reading, as always!


The First Kiss

The moment I saw him, my heart did something it had never done before.  Not that what happened was biologically unique… but it was the first time I felt it stop.  Not like a word, where you can just cut it off; not like a thought, where you can banish it to a depth in your mind that allows for no return; not like a book, which you can suddenly slam shut.  It stopped the way a light bulb is turned off: most of the light fading all at once, but the remnants of glow dwindling slowly from the tiny wire.  It stopped like the end of a song, when the bass note continues to echo in your ear, slowly losing its volume until you can no longer detect it.  My heart tingled as it stopped.  And jumped to life again as I saw him look up and recognize my car.

He was standing there, next to the road, waiting for me to appear around the bend, his breath making writhing clouds that haloed his face.  Lights from a house shone behind him, making his shape indistinct.  He was only a silhouette to my eyes.  A smile flashed across my face, but the realization that I was grinning like a fool – and that he couldn’t see it yet – didn’t shame me into a more disciplined composure.

He beckoned to me, so I parked quickly and got out, shivering at the suddenly cold air around me.  He’d invited me on a walk among the short, simple trails that twisted through the forest behind his neighborhood, so I followed him to the trailhead.  He surprised me by offering his hand, and I took it, a tingle rushing through me at the contact of his warm skin against mine.

We were quiet, content to be together as we held hands and watched the stars wink and shimmer in the clear night sky.  Not far down the first trail we chose, there was a bench off in the shadow of a large pine tree.  He led me to it and pointed out the small patch of sky you could see if you sat just in the right place, and looked up at just the right angle.

I studied the stars in the little patch of sky, conscious of his eyes on me.  Finally, when I looked at him and smiled, he leaned a little closer and whispered, “you’re crazy… you know that, right?  Are you sure this is ok?”

“Mhmm,” was all I could say with that smile on my lips.  The look in his eyes caused a stirring of emotion in me that was strange and alien.  I was afraid – of what, I couldn’t have said – yet excited and apprehensive.  If I had been the type of girl that blushed with emotion, I would have blushed a strawberry pink.  His forehead touched mine, and he whispered once more, “you’re crazy,” before closing the final distance between us.

I remember gasping a little at the beauty of the feeling.  Soft…warm…gentle it was.  It filled an emptiness in me that I hadn’t expectedcould be filled with this.  I, like every other girl in existence, had often longed for the feel of a pair of strong arms around me, a voice whispering in my ear with promises of safety, security and love.  His kiss was all of that at once: an unspoken promise that filled my heart to bursting with a sense of completeness.

I kept running my fingers over my lips on my way home, wondering if it had really happened.  One thing I didn’t need to ponder, though.

I loved him.

My Creative Writing: Prose

Prose time!:)  This time, I’m going to show you a piece that I wrote in late October last year after being inspired by an movie I watched (I don’t remember what movie it was…). It’s not a short story, but a piece of emotional prose.  In short, it is my interpretation of grief.  I’d really like to hear your feedback on the ideas I talk about, and, of course, what your general impressions were of the piece!  Thanks for reading!



Grief is not something you can just “deal with.”  It hitches in your throat.  Spreads its cold fingers over your skin and doesn’t let go.  Takes a hold of you that’s so strong, you shake and tremble but can’t get free.  Tears are no comfort.  All they do is leave you exhausted.  All you can do, in the end, is moan and scream until your voice is gone and your heart is cold.  Dead in all but reality.

That’s stage 1.

Grief has a way of chilling you so much that you get too numb to feel anything.  You become a zombie, going through your life as if it’s all just a routine: meaningless.  The only reason you do it is so that, at the end of the day, you can shut yourself off and scream.  And no one will care because you have no obligations.  You shun everyone close to you because every kind word and every troubled look is either pity or arrogance.  You don’t need their help.  And they’re arrogant if they think they can understand.  Or help.

That’s stage 2.

Grief festers.  It rots you from the inside out, discoloring your heart and making your control weak and holey.  The best you can manage is a few fake smiles, and endure your life in the hope that you’ll have to lie the fewest times that day.  Yesterday you said you were fine six times?  Well maybe today it will be four.  Eventually, you start believing your own lies.  Your mask – your acting – gets so good that it becomes you.  You don’t realize it because you think you’re still acting.  But now when you get home, you start feeling the pain less and less.  You think it’s a result of getting better, but it’s not.  You’re getting worse.  You’ve stopped trying to get better, and instead have put everything away: in a neat little box in that specific corner of your mind.  But you don’t realize it.

That’s stage 3.

There’ll be days when you remember.  Days when the knot on the box slips; the weight is crushing.  But most days you’ll continue to live your life.  Living the act.  Believing it.  Putting faith in something that’s having the opposite effect on you.  Stage 4 never ends.  Or when you think it does, the mask is simply replaced with a more intricate one.  The mask never dissolves into the blackness.  You’re a different person now.  The unconscious secret has hidden a small corner of your soul away from everybody that knew you before.  You’re not aware enough to know you need to flip the light switch.  And nothing is ever the same.







And the sea of black umbrellas continues to sway.

My Creative Writing: Prose

Below is a short story I wrote sometime in early October of last year.  I’ve written quite a bit of both poetry and creative prose, and while I enjoy writing both, I think my strong-suit is more in prose.

I was asked by one of my followers to briefly explain my inspiration behind my creative pieces, but I must warn you, much of my inspiration doesn’t come from ordinary things such as a leaf floating on the wind or the image of a little girl standing just behind a corner.  Most of my inspiration comes from emotions, my own experiences mixed with an idea or feeling, and sometimes external sources like a photo or a song.  For this particular story, it was the second kind of inspiration.  I would very much appreciate any critiques and general comments you have to offer!  And, as always, thank you for reading!



He startled her as he came around the bend, emerging from the small copse of trees like a wraith emerging from a deep shadow.  She stopped walking and stared at him, her heartbeat quickening in fright.

But as he stepped into the light of the street lamp that stood only a few feet behind her, she realized his face was familiar.

“Hayden?” she asked hesitantly, the incredulity and utter shock at his being there evident in her voice.

“Hey, Kisa,” he said, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  There was a familiar light in his brown eyes that warmed her heart in the remembering.  They had not been close friends; even so, seeing him filled her with a sense of relief.  Ever since leaving home, she had been lonely, having not previously known anyone here before she moved.  Her world had completely changed in the space of a few short weeks, and now she felt so alone.

In that moment, she realized she didn’t care that he hadn’t been a very close friend; she was just happy to see an old familiar face.

As if on cue, he took one step closer to her and lifted his arms, holding them out to her.  Her eyes widened.

“I heard you needed a hug.”

Her shock doubled.  “From whom?”  Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

That light came into his gentle eyes again, the same boyish grin to his lips.  “I think you know.”

She could only stand there, frozen in astonishment and confusion.

He didn’t wait long for her to recover… only a few seconds, really.  He finished the remaining steps that separated them and enfolded her in his strong arms.  The embrace was warm, gentle, comforting.  It brought a strange sense of peace to her soul that, until that moment, she hadn’t consciously realized was missing.  He was a good head taller than her, so she had to turn her face and rest it against his chest in order to breathe. It felt right, the way her head nestled against his chest just below his collarbone.

He didn’t let go for a long time, and just stood there in the uncertain light of the street lamp, holding her.  Eventually she softened, relaxing her tensed muscles, and let out a little sigh of surrender.  Her arms left her sides and she hugged him back, her fists clutching at his shirt, her face buried deep in his jacket.  Later she would wonder why it was so easy to let down her guard with someone she hadn’t even known very well, but in that moment she was just immensely grateful for his presence.  She breathed deeply and smelled his familiar scent, all her senses now filled with him and the memories of her past.

A single tear shone in the corner of her left eye.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the fabric of his jacket.  “Thank you, Hayden.”

He only smiled, closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair.