Creative Writing Task 1
One of my earliest memories was of my father. Back then, he still had hair. He looked quite funny with his hair grown short, or maybe it was just that I’m used to seeing him bald. His face was usually shaved but with just a hint of stubble below his chin. He always wore simple clothes, a white Adidas shirt and a pair of black Adidas shorts.
The place I used to play at was the playground right outside my flat, with its bright orange slide and a short, white wall made of some stone going around it. There was also a small hill next to the playground, with exercise equipment at the top. My friends and I would always balance on the roots of the many trees growing on the hill, arms outstretched and pretending that the ground was made of lava.
I used to live in a three-room flat. The walls of the second bedroom were lined with bookshelves, and the afternoon sunlight filtered through the small windows at the side of the wall. There was a small desk in the room, with many papers and pens piled messily on top. The room smelled musty and of old books and there were many nooks and crannies in that room, created by the boxes piled on the floor.
Those were some of my earliest memories. Of course, I had many more, but these were the few that I could find in the huge memory bank that was my mind.
Creative Writing Task 2
The deserted street lay before her, devoid of people and vehicles. A small breeze disturbed a piece of paper that lay on the dirty pavement. She drew her coat tighter around herself and looked wearily around. The streetlights were dim and one in the distance flickered before it went out. She heard a series of soft footsteps, barely audible, behind her and she quickened her pace. “It's nothing, you’re imagining things, nothing is going to happen to you,” she whispered quietly to herself.
She turned around and saw a dark, fleeting shadow of what looked like a person walking into the alley. She froze for an instant and started to back away. She tripped over her own feet and fell to the rough concrete beneath her. She scrambled to her feet and felt her heart rate increase tenfold.
She heard the footsteps again, but this time, they were louder. Not daring to look back, she walked even faster, hoping to get away from the person behind her. She could smell a faint whiff of cologne. She heard the blood pounding in her ears, and she ran. She ran like she was being chased by a cheetah, her trench coat flying behind her like a cape.
As she ran, she wished she had taken up her classmate’s parent’s offer to drive her home, for who knew what dangers lay in the dark streets of Saint Andreas.