The alley lay before him. The alley was dark and menacing, like walking into a tiger’s mouth. Mouse scurried through the alley, rushing to get home. As he was scurrying back, out from the corner of his eyes, he spotted two slits of glimmering eyes. Mouse stopped in his tracks and stared at them. He started imagining a silhouette of a big creature on the brick walls.”This is just an illusion” Mouse said to himself.
Mouse saw another pair of eyes. They were glimmering yellow. Mouse started to shiver. He felt a chill ran down his spine as he continued to scurry. Mouse repeatedly told himself not to imagine anything.
The eyes seemed to follow him as he scurried past them. The shadow looked like it was growing. There was also the sound of shuffling feet. The shadow looked twice its normal size, and the eyes looked much bigger than before. He saw two sharp pointy ears on the shadow, even more scary. Mouse instantly dashed and seeked shelter in an empty discarded in the alley. Mouse shivered so much that even the cup itself started shaking.
Mouse regretted not listening to what his parents say:Do not walk alone in a dark alley.
creative writing 2
One of my earliest memories was lying in a light blue net-like crib with my grandmother playing with me. She had wrinkles on her forehead, not as much as now, and curly jet-black hair on her. She was wearing an orange shirt with flowers on it and-and shorts which are blue, with flowers on them. She held the lego piece and gently put it in my hands.Her voice was raspy but nice and soothing like a warm hug. I used to play with my younger brother in my parent’s bedroom. It smelt of the strong perfume that my mother would use. My younger brother and I will jump up and down on my parents bed, and hit each other with pillows. The bed was soft and springy, which we would jump on. My bed would be the colour of dark oak wood while my brother’s bed would be made out of wood, with a stark white painting. Our beds would be arranged in an “L” shape with our parents bed, just right beside ours. My father’s study room was cluttered with many objects and smelt like an office. The floor was smooth, and there was only one office chair, with a desk littered with pencils and pens. These are my earliest memories.