Hello Readers, so I was thinking the other day about how many times I’ve mentioned I love writing on this blog and I have yet to share any of it. So I thought why not start off with a poem and a short story I wrote for my creative writing class I took in high school.
The poem is called Drops, and mind you I’m not a huge fan of poetry. I mean don’t get me wrong it’s beautiful and I love reading it, I just don’t always like writing it.
Drops glide down,
Two blue eyes stare.
Muddy ground, dark sky,
Crashes of thunder,
And still, the blue eyes never waver.
Drops hit the ground
Soaking the leaves and streets,
Birds tucked under,
Grey clouds and white flashes,
The twilight illuminated. And still,
The blue eyes never waver,
A hand passes over,
The blue eyes close.
Drops glide down.
The short story I chose to share is called Broken Window. I read it over and did end up changing a few things, but other than that it’s the original story I wrote about 10 months ago. It may not be my best writing, but you learn as you go. And I think even from this I can see improvements in the book I’m trying to write now.
A girl sits on a yellowy stained mattress that’s pushed into the corner of a small room meticulously assembling and disassembling her hand gun. The walls are bare and the air is dry and musty as her lungs fill with air and then empty. Her raven hair swept to one side, exposing her painted neck of intricate drawings that can be followed like a map down to the tips of her fingers. A t-shirt sits loosely on her shoulders, as dirty and worn as the room she’s in. Dust floats through the air and settles on her dark jeans the light from the single window illuminating the sparkles. The floorboards are exposed to their bare bones; the wood columns making the room seem like a cage, but that also means being safe. And this abandoned house was fortunate enough to survive the outbreak, just as she did. Her family, however, had not been as lucky.
The panic hits her veins, jolting through her body and the memories begin to flood her mind. Her hands begin to shake, her shadowy eyes staring empty at the copper and silver parts in front of her. She shoots up, her bare feet meeting the grimy wooden boards and stumbling slightly as she begins pacing the room, back and forth, back and forth. She counts her steps, one…two…three…repeating the sequence over and over, until she is no longer shivering at the memories. The world is quiet, her footsteps and heart beat are the only sounds echoing off the cage walls.
The rhythm suddenly interrupted, when a shuffle of feet can be heard, followed by the usual groaning, the sound instantly recognizable to her small ears. She abandons her pacing and steps to the broken window. Picking up her rifle, that had been propped carefully against the wall; she now locks her target through the scope. But she doesn’t fire, not yet. The Thing might fall into one of her traps. It does, but her lips unexpectedly turn into a frown. At least she can save the bullet for another time, she thinks as she leans the rifle back against the wall and turns to look at her surroundings. No longer distracted by the memory she realizes how pathetic everything looks. Her shoulders sink and her eyes shut as she tilts her head downwards and not a glimmer of light passes through her eyelids.
Creak…her eyes shoot open, her senses becoming alert as she packs everything she can into a bag with as much precision and calmness as it takes to aim a gun. When light footfalls can be heard on the stairs she assembles her gun and freezes. No Thing could get in here, but someone could. She slides her knife onto her belt and places herself behind the door, listening. Her heart rate slowing and beginning to ring in her ears as she tries to stay composed and prepare for anything that might walk through that door.
He steps through the door, slowly, cautiously entering the room and as the click of the door can heard he whips his head around to be met with the barrel of the girl’s gun. His hands fly up in surrender.
“Leave,” she says as the boy is forced to move towards the door by the threatening bullet aimed at him.
He stammers, not being able to speak at first. The girl takes a small step forwards, pushing the boy back against the wall and repeats her command.
“I’ve been running from those Things all night. I’m sorry…I saw the house…I-”
The girl contemplates his words. She knows what that’s like, running all night, never stopping, the adrenaline fading and then the vibrations hitting you like a hurricane again, the ever present fear making you do wild thing. She lowers her gun.
“I’m Jenette, she says, “you look like you could use some rest,” his grip is loose when they shake hands, but his voice still holds some strength.
“Ryan,” he says.
Jenette waves her hands and gestures for him to lie down, he does and she takes a seat at the end of the bed, given the fact that there aren’t any chairs in the room. He passes out rather quickly, while Jenette just stares at him. At this boy who just wandered into her safe house and is now asleep in her bed. She looks at him taking in his appearance, he’s a lost teenager, like herself with black hair and blue eyes that once were full of happiness but are now exhausted and consumed with terror.
It’s this world, where danger is around every corner. It’s these Things. They aren’t dead and they aren’t alive. They have reverted back to their beginning programs. Survive, eat, kill. No one knows exactly how it happened, or where it started, but it was an international outbreak of a disease that did not kill you, but instead twisted you in ways that changed your soul and destroyed what humanity was left in the world.
She remembers it like a bad dream, the chaos, the fear. The army taken out by sickness, sanctuaries and hospitals corrupted, stores robbed, fires, death. Everyone on their own, with nowhere to go, trying to survive in this merciless hell.
Her thoughts interrupted when Ryan shifts on the bed and wakes up, rubbing his eyes.
“Thanks for not killing me in my sleep,” he says, “You can’t trust very many people these days.” Jenette shrugs, looking down twisting a ring she has on one of her fingers, examining the small emerald green stone and the surrounding tattoos. “So, I take it your alone,” he says.
Jenette nods without turning her head, just keeps spinning the ring on her middle finger and taking note of how dirty her hands are. It’s silent for a moment; even the Things outside offer little noise. Finally she builds enough nerve to speak more than one word.
“You need to leave,” this time she faces him and ensures they lock eyes. But she is only met with eyes that hold nothing but sadness and alarm as he seems even more lost and dazed than before.
“I don’t know if I can go out there again, not alone anyway.”
“Well, you’ll have to,” the last thing she needed right now was someone holding her back in this war zone…and someone she might have to deal with losing, but Ryan didn’t need to know that.
“You know what it’s like out there; no one can survive by themselves.”
“Well, I’m not you.”
“Well this apocalypse has clearly made you soulless,” that one hurt.
“I let you stay didn’t I?”
“What is it you want from me?”
“To stay, form an alliance, maybe actually survive.”
“I can survive on my own.”
“So you’ll just let me die.”
“I’m starting to have second thoughts about not killing you myself.” Jenette is standing now, questioning why this idiot is trying to manipulate her.
“Fine. I’ll leave.”
And just like that he walks out the door. Gone forever.
It’s not until later that night that she realizes Ryan never really left and hung around the house for a while. He must have fallen asleep; not thinking a couple of Things could have slipped through the barriers. To this day, the screams still echo in her dreams, just as her family’s does.
So that’s all for this week, hope you enjoyed. If you have any feedback about my writing you’re welcome to leave a comment below.