Creative writing one
One of my earliest memories includes my mother. I was throwing a tantrum, and she had to calm me down. She sat me on her lap, and her eyes crinkled into a smile. I noticed the faded patch on her face, which was due to a mistake in the pigmentation of the skin on her face. I calmed down a little bit but kept screaming. She sat me down and hushed me until I stopped crying. Then I played with her little ponytail and tugged at her Homer Simpson T-shirt and jeans.
I used to play at a nearby playground all the time. I would always climb the little rock climbing mountain and stand on top in victory. Then I would slide down the slide. It was always an adventure. Sometimes I would play with my sisters and pretend we were other people, famous explorers, movie start, crazy animals even. We would have called it "acting" bit we also liked to imagine to be very cool actors sometimes. Whatever it was, I always enjoyed myself, listening to us laugh together.
In my house, there was a porch. It had tall towering towers to support it. Sometimes my sisters and I would put out our small tea table, and they would challenge me to climb op one. They could not do it, so they were empty challenges. Whenever I reached the top, I would smell the flowers, the dust the grass, and the silence I would never hear again.
That was the most peaceful it ever got.
Creative writing two
The park lay before him. It usually stretched out into an endless green sea, but now it was dark, it looked like a black hole, the trees twisted shadows looming over him. He was not afraid. He welcomed the sight with open paws even, enjoying the silence. He loved to hang out at places like these; the silence always seemed like home.
He heard a twig snap. Whipping around warily, he thought about how there had been rumours of dogs lurking around the area. He, of course, had ignored them. He was not afraid of dogs. Seeing no evil being, not even a single twig behind him with his advanced night vision, he carried on. “ I could take on a dog,” he yelled into nothing in particular. It came out as a squeak. The night seemed different now. The wind raged, and there appeared to be a dog housed in every dark tree, waiting to jump out.
He heard the wind whispering to him. Another twig snapped. It felt like a whole tree had been broken into two halves. “Dog...dog...dog….” the wind belted out as if challenging fate to rid this cat from the world. He shivered. Then a furry tail flashed by.It seemed fate had accepted. The panic sprang to his legs. He stumbled clumsily, very much unlike a cat, and climbed a tree, the fear consuming him while he camouflaged with its black leaves. He breathed heavily.
He would have to find a new place to hangout.