I M In Prison Creative Writing

The mouldy, rotting, brown house stood in front of Emily, only fear keeping her feet planted to the ground. Moaning and creaking noises being projected from the house. The grass was damp from the evening fog and every time she took a step the mud squelched. The bottom step squeaked as she applied pressure with her foot, she let out a sigh of relief as the old structure hadn’t swallowed her up. The door, slightly off colour from the rest of the house, loomed over her like a giant as he reached for the brass door handle. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current, the musty smell of a house that had been long abandoned filled Emily’s nose. It was dim and uninviting. The furniture dusty and old, looking as if it would crumble to dust if she was to touch it. Mould ate away at

He's right, admittedly, bu you're seeking for revenge, you should fight with everything you've got left in you to prove him wrong, to make him believe in something bigger than yourself.

I snapped back into reality and opened my door. I stepped out into the narrow hallway, and I rested my hand on the door knob. The door was almost closed when I had a sudden urge to sneak one last glance at my room. Not being able to let go of my room, I cracked the door open again. My eyes rested on the skeleton of the room, and I gently closed the door.

The first couple steps were bumpy, my trembling feet vibrating against the crackling floor. The door swings open as I go to knock creating a loud screeching noise. As I walk into the unfamiliar home, I become more aware of the man I'm about to meet. I travel further into his world and can hear the noise coming from under my feet. I get closer and closer until I find it, the crooked door where he told me to meet him. As the stairs appears from the darkness, my path becomes lighted ahead of me.

I sighed deeply as I sat back on the bed. After the police arrested me and put me in here, I haven’t seen any form of humanity for the week that I’ve been in this jail cell. The meals are passed through a flap on the door and no one came to visit. It all started that morning….

I grab the handle and open the door, it’s cold and my body is shaking, I can barely walk. The mist against my face makes my nose tingle and run, so I zip up my jacket. I force myself to

With the knowledge that my immediate environment is no longer watching, no longer creating a background buzz of ringing, the anxiety hanging like a looming, menacing cloud rains and evaporates into the atmosphere, leaving me a blank canvas to read, write, think, encompass myself in anything outside of the grounded logic of daylight. During these exposing and too-loud hours of the day, I find myself unable to entirely immerse myself in any preoccupation, thinking multiple steps ahead; during those comforting and mindless hours of the night that press inexorably into my cells, I can be anywhere, I can take my mind to any other world. Both thrilling and tranquil, the idea that I have complete independence of thought and action in this time of quietness releases the iron grip of following eyes like frozen lashes, and floods of ideas for stories and any ungrounded potential for the vast future bleed and seep through the gates of my elsewhere-consciousness. I

The darkness enveloped me that night. No light from the car headlights or the stars could cut through my foggy mind, and I kept moving, one foot after the other to distract myself. Right, left. I arrived at the wall faster than I’d hoped to.

I sprint as fast as I could to find another way out, I felt like the prey being hunted by a cheetah. The kitchen, the bathroom, and the stairs flew past me. A door, a brown door, could it be my way out? I shut the door silently behind me and race quietly down the stairs, there are so many stairs, which creak beneath me. I see two figures hiding in the shadows and wonder, can they help me? Can it be Mulholland and Temple?

“Shit!” I think to myself, blood pumps it’s way through my head, pound on my eardrums. I feel light but my legs are jelly. I push past it, and back up, further pressing myself further into the door, it creaks and I flinch. I grip the flashlight with all my might, white floods my fingers as the color drains. We both go silent, the steps

I break my eyes away, escaping from the exposing too-lit bathroom. I need to clear my head. It only takes a few steps before I reach my doorstep. I shuffle my feet into a pair of sneakers, grab a few dangling keys, and head outside my

The day I committed my felony, there was little thinking involved. I thought it was simple and easy,  just to take my friend to work without getting him there late. I did not think enough about the dangers and consequences I bestowed upon myself. I did not think about the fact that I only had a graduated instruction permit at the time. I did not think about, if i were to get pulled over by a police officer. I did not think about, what if i crashed at the speed I was going, a crash would of been fatal or severely injuring.

He hurt me, beat me, threatened me and pretended to be docile around my family. I stuck up for him though, I was too close to IT to let him go. Home became an impossible place for me to reside, mostly because IT lived right ‘there,’ and he wasn’t someone that could be arrested for the physical and emotional torture he forced upon me. I didn’t want to leave him, despite how awful he was to me, for I loved him and would do whatever I could in order to never let him go. So, with that, I was sent away, not him. My family wanted me away from him, so I was forcibly moved around the country to find a place where I could forget about IT and my previous life. One thought stuck in my mind and still remains- “IT is a psychopath…but maybe it’s more than just him…maybe it’s ME.”

My entire body feels like someone had poured ice-water in my veins as I try to slowly reach for the doorknob hoping that she’ll get bored and go away eventually.She seems calmed for a moment then she turns away. I let out a breath, in that instant she whips her head around and stares me down. “Why do you look scared? Do you think I’ll hurt you?” she asks in a seemingly normal tone, but to the trained ear it could be noticed that the evil brewed right beneath every word she uttered. I try to stop the trembling in my legs as I refuse to meet her gaze. Fear grips me at the throat as I finally look up into the face of my tormentor, the face that is

The moment the door swings open we both fall inside . We’re freezing so much we don’t even bother to shut it. Throwing our boots off, we run up the stairs to quickly get changed.