Creative Writing: Mountain View Nursing Home

As soon as Flug's shirt was off, it was more than obvious Dementia was _already_ itching to sink her teeth in. Needless to say, she'd never actually seen so much of him before - The scars that contrasted with the pale skin upon his scrawny frame was hardly a surprise, given the fact that they _all_ had gained scars at some point (How couldn't they, working for Black Hat?), although it made curiousity as to what was underneath the paper bag almost unbearable. She leaned forward to place soft kisses and gentle nibbles across the pallid skin, sharp teeth nipping softly at the collarbones that stuck out just a bit too much and tongue lapping against his quivering throat. In the process, she tried to peek underneath the bag, to no avail. To her dismay, she couldn't see anything.

(STEWE-2)84 “She picks up a pair of scissors that lies on the pile of quilts and snipes at my hair in short strokes until it

You're both positively gorgeous. I wish I were a modeling scout right now. I would recruit you both and give you my card and hurry you into the agency right away—oh wait, no, I am sorry. I am going off again. I just came here to apologize, but now you probably think I am more crazy, though now I’m probably just buzzing,” she chuckled to herself. “You know… I should buy myself a house here, gorgeous houses, gorgeous tall people, and faces. No! I’m getting sidetracked again,” she scolded herself, and her eyes flicked back up toward Gemma. “Excuse me, are you the owner of this

He twirls my ponytail in his fingers. Emily's eyes narrow. I mumble something idiotic and run for the bathroom. I heave lunch into the toilet, then wash my face with the ice water that comes out of the Hot faucet.” (90) 4.

“Excuse me?” She asks, and suddenly I remember my current guise. I am Paperman, and spiraling fast in on this victim that I shouldn’t be until I am someone else. I run a hand through my hair.

Skylar was a 15 year old in her freshman year of high school along with her two best friends Tucker and Charlotte. Skylar had long brown silky hair, which she always wore up either in a ponytail or some type of braid. Skylar loved to wear skinny jeans, converse, and sweatshirts. Her eyes were a mixture of a green and darker orange color. Skylar was very confident around people that she was most comfortable with. Otherwise, she was very shy and quiet around others. Charlotte was blonde with her hair always flowing down her back. Charlotte wore pretty much the same thing as Skylar except she liked to wear actual t-shirts. Charlotte has bright blue eyes that everyone wished they had. Charlotte didn’t care what others thought so she was always

"Finish up the pancakes, I have to tame Charlie and Zoe's mess of what we call hair."

My name is Madison Dalke and I will be renting the 1324 Colorado St Apartment #1 this up coming year. My lease for my previous apartment is over on July 29th at 12:00. I am trying to figure out what to do with my stuff over the weekend. Is it possible to move my things in early to the apartment? If not possible can I leave a U-Haul parked in front of the

Inaho's hands comb through the fine strands of Slaine's hair, parting it until he's satisfied with how it looks. "There." He sets the scissors down, moves around the table and pauses for a second, ready to

By the time you read this note you will be at your Senior Kairos Retreat. Where does the time go? It seems like it was yesterday and I was holding you in my arms, less than an hour old. As a child time seems like it stands still, but believe me as you get older the years pass quickly. Somehow, in a blink of an eye, the little boy with the big smile and blue eyes has grown into a young man. Sean, you have brought much joy to my life. Your smiling face when you would see me, your wide-eyed wonder when we went to the Peabody Museum, or how you would snuggle up in bed with me after Uncle Rory went to work and talk about everything and anything. I admire how kind you are and the empathy you have for others. This is a quality few people have, recognize

“Alright sir, 1...2...3!” I said as I swiftly ripped off the electrodes on his now, not so hairy chest. The patient quickly brushed off his pained expression as his wife breaks out in a laugh and I try to stifle a grin. He groans saying, “you two are enjoying this aren’t you?” and proceeds to make a joke about how I must be mad at some boy by the way I’m torturing him. Laughing, I assured him that it was over now and to let me know if he needed anything else. I then drew the curtains to allow them privacy, and proceeded to the next patient.

Restful Haven Nursing Home was a 1980’s two-storey brick building, reminiscent of a shabby low budget hotel in which couples, married but not necessarily to each other take pleasure in brief clandestine dalliances. It sat just off a busy roundabout and the service road leading to it also offered access to a Travel Lodge, a huge One-Stop garage and a McDonald's. However, it would be a mistake to imagine that the home's position, implied an ongoing inclusivity in society for the people who found themselves resident there. For whilst on the whole the hotel guests, travellers and food connoisseurs could still conceptualise a speculative life span ahead of them the residents at Restful Haven were no longer afforded that luxury. On arrival, for the lucid ones at least, there was an unspoken recognition that it was almost certainly a one-way journey, to be embarked upon slowly, worn out joints and trepidation each on their part vying for supremacy. However, once those and all other earthly afflictions had been finally cast aside, they mostly left the home at high speed in a vehicle with blacked out windows whose graphics

“Kayla.” my brother said in a firm voice “Turn around.” I did so as he said and our gazed met. His hand reached out and grabbed hold of all my long, orange hair and cut it of up to my neck.

On 04/26/16, Devan told his teacher and school nurse that her grandparent’s friend, Randy, has moved into the home to help with rent; Randy moved into the home a couple of months ago. According to the reporter, Devan told her that Randy doesn’t sleep on the couch, floor, or with anyone else, but Randy sleeps in the bed with him and it makes him feel uncomfortable. Ms. Hicks stated when she asked Devan if Randy has been inappropriate with him, Devan shook his head no. The reporter stated she doesn’t have any specific details about the sleeping arrangement; it’s unknown if Randy sleeps under covers with the child, if they sleep head to toe, or at opposite ends of the bed. The reporter also mentioned she was told by the child that Randy is taking

Callisto’s face gently tilts back over her right shoulder, her long blond, curly tresses pulled back and flowing down her