Creative Writing 1
- My mother winding her bright curls around her finger.
- A birdhouse on a pole, right in the centre without any birds in it.
- A long passage leading from the kitchen to the front door.
- Mouldy air, smelling of soap, coffee and pickles.
My Earliest Memories A short essay by Max Chen
One of my earliest memories was my Grandmother. She looked wise, after years of being a parent and she had a large pair of spectacles and liked reading, and caring. Her hair was a short with thick curls and her face was warm and her cheeks were very rosy. I remember she used to wear normal shirts that were very old and short pants that ended at her knees. Her voice sounded like she really cared for what you were talking about. When I was young she would rock me to sleep, singing my favourite lullaby.
A place I used to play in when I was young was my living room floor. It had a large sofa that could seat five while having a wooden table where I kept my toys. I remember playing with my metallic toy trains on the floor turning ordinary items into buildings or mountains where I could take them to.
A place I have been living in since childhood is a HDB flat. I could remember the scent of old books in my father’s study or the sound of food cooking in the kitchen connecting to the living room. The living room was large and spacious with a dining table with neatly arranged chairs. When I do my homework there, the sound of the whirring fan would always fill my ears.
These are some things from my childhood.
Creative Writing 2
- This was all fun and excitement, Mole told himself.
- He paused another hole and another pair of hard little eyes flashed for an instant.
- Telling himself cheerfully not begin imagining things.
- Then suddenly, every little hole far and near seemed to possess a pair of evil little eyes.
5. He ran, he knew not where, and at last took refuge in the deep dark hollow of a Beech tree.
6. And trembled. And wished he had listened to his friends who had warned him: Never go walking in the deep dark wood after dark.
The Growing Shadow A short story by Max Chen
The street lay before him, its pavement cracked and the light from a streetlamp flickered and it was extremely quiet. Without a sound, save for the footsteps of Billy, who was walking back home from tuition class. In order not to be late for dinner, Billy decided to take the shortest route possible. Through the dark, dimly lit street he walked he glanced to the side. As he was walking he said to himself , I know that this dark street won’t scare me he told himself. And saw rats scurrying about near a puddle beside the pavement.
As Billy continued walking down the street, the buildings casted eerie shadows ever the pavement. Suddenly a gust of wind blew over where Billy was standing, and he saw a fleeting shadow pass. Billy turned around to see if it was there but all he could see was a dripping pipe, making the sound drip, drip, drip.. Billy walked quicker, telling himself that it was all in his head.
The wind howled and Billy started to panic. It seemed as though the shadow was getting larger and closer. Billy’s hair at the back of his head stood up. The shadow started to fall upon him and Billy started to run. He ran as fast as he could, kicking down and cardboard boxes and stepping in puddles Billy then fell down, flat onto the floor, and he heard the sound of flapping in the distance.
Oh he wished that he had heeded his parent’s advice: Never walk through dark and shady areas at night.