1.07 Creative Writing

I ran, my feet bloodied and aching, my ankle unsteady and shrieking in pain. I ignored it, gasping

A/N: I was bored one day, when these little idea's popped into my head. I don't own Sherlock, any of the characters, or BBC, etc. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, are the real creators of the show. All this work is for entertainment purposes only, not for profit or gain. Enjoy!

On weekends, groups of Italian boys piled out of Milan-licensed Range Rovers. They unloaded skis, pulled on Dolomite ski pants and down jackets and trudged up to the slopes. There were a few Australians from the local youth hostel skiing in jeans.

Everybody was gone. Evacuated, they called it. The Pearl of Asia, a city once renowned the world over for its vibrant music and art scenes, along with its French-style architecture –now devoid of living souls. The city centre was only a corpse of its former self: the central market was completely unrecognisable; the surrounding houses now just piles of brick and wood. They said that we did not need cities, that we were corrupted by Western values. They would create a new society, free from the old ways of money and greed. The past five years had been quite abominable, so everybody hoped that this new government would finally bring peace.

Turning off the TV, Andrew grabbed his keys and rushed to the garage, angry for not being more cautious. Driving down the street as fast as he could to get to the cleaners, he said, “I wonder if Margaret has her phone. I will call it,” he said, pushing the buttons, he waited, and said, “Oh, no; it went directly to voice mail. She must have turned it off, but why would she do that?”

Hello i'm a psychiatric for the suspect that killed the old man because of his evil eye. I first met him after he did the murder and he felt sorry and guilty. Therefore he was sentenced to life in prison for a first degree murder. Im here to help him so he wouldn't get into other trouble. I came to talk to him and he said he was sorry for what he did and how he wished to turn things back to normal.

I was sprawled out on my old bed with a quilt partially wrapped around me. It was cold in the bedroom. I had taken mom’s diary out of my suitcase. Tears rolled down my cheeks, as I laid there flipping through the pages.

“Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian

I wrap my scarf around my neck and reach down to lace up my boots. Careful not to drop my cross body bag as it swings down, I stand up straight and walk out the door. As I lock the front door behind me, I inhale a deep breath. This is my favorite time of year. The air is brisk, yet the sun is warm on my skin. I begin my walk to work since my car officially died yesterday. This is the third time this month, but I don’t really mind. I love walking when the weather is like this. The sounds of leaves crunching beneath my feet sounds like music.

This morning I walked into your room because I heard quite a commotion of hangers hitting walls and drawers being slammed. Either you were trying to capture, kill, or scare a spider OR you were having an emotional breakdown. Either way, I was ready for it. I had Love and Logic training and knew exactly what I needed to say and how to say it…bring it on sweetie. I was not ready for you, my beautiful, kind-hearted SIX-YEAR-OLD daughter, to be throwing clothes around your room while yelling, “Mom! I cannot wear the outfit I set out last night because it makes me look fat!” Ummmm, WHAT? I wanted to scream, “You are six years old! Are you out of your ever-loving mind? You are not supposed to see yourself like that! You are six; how could you be so crazy about the way you look already?” Instead, I told you how beautiful, brilliant, and strong you are and that you are being silly. In other words, I disregarded and minimized your feelings entirely.

According to FBI 2010 UCR report, there was fifty-five homicide death reported, it’s second highest in the state of Tennessee after Memphis. Losing someone who we loved through homicide would be one of the most shocking experience, In my life period I haven’t experienced any homicide which includes my loved ones, I come from the peaceful neighborhood, since I was the child I grew up in a peaceful environment, there was low violence but minor, dangerous weapons such as guns, biological weapon or even swords were rare. I’m thankful for the way I was raised, grew up without knowing crimes, drug, weapon, etc. But when I hear news about homicide I envision how would my life change If I lose my loved ones, especially my father because men are more likely to get killed in homicide than women. It’s always strange feelings when the person was with you yesterday and today they are not here. Shared plans and dreams are no longer there, all lefts are the memories which were shared with a dead person. Deaths are sudden no one knows when we’re going to die but dying from another human being puts more grief than other types of death. My father is basically bread winner at the house currently, so there would be many effects in our day to day life. My reaction would be the same reaction as when someone lose their loved one 's specifically father. In this type of situation, I will try to calm myself and call the police as soon as I can, I will give much information to the offices as I can, I

There was a sense of impeding doom that turned my stomach. Although I couldn't bear to look at the mask I held outreach to you, my eyes were tempted to look to you. I side-swiped a glance at you before you took the mask. My eyebrow arched as you looked at me, visibly distraught. My eyes did a double take, and my gaze fell curiously back on you. I sensed a feeling of unease from you, and became immediately confused. “Your master never teach you Torture 101, Mr. Ren?” Although I was mocking you, there was a sense of concern in my voice, as I looked over to the Dug and then back at you. “You look like you've seen a ghos-” Holding out the mask in front of you, I watched you intently as your eyes fixated on the item. My eyes narrowed at that reaction, and suddenly, it made sense to me. Perhaps you had seen a ghost. Fully educated in the many various connections within the Force, I wondered if in this moment you had seen anything. If in this moment, his darkness had fallen on you. I pondered the horrors you had witnessed... and if any one of those horrors was my own. I wondered if it was pain you experienced, and even... if that pain was my own.

I always wonder if his murders would do it again if they knew how much he really meant to us. I still remember when my mother told me, she couldn’t even tell me face to face, she had to tell me in a text message. It felt so unreal I didn’t even believe her. I saw it on the news, I saw it on Facebook, I remember watching his sister talk about on the news, but I still couldn’t believe it. “Why would someone murder Dion”? I thought to myself, and still ask myself every day. The hardest part of Dion’s death was attending his funeral. It was raining very hard that Saturday morning and I was very sick that morning, but nothing could stop me from going. At his funeral his oldest daughter that was only ten years old wrote and recited a poem about how much she loves and will miss her father. Knowing how close he was with his children prior to this, it was absolutely heartbreaking, knowing that both of these young girls will have to continue the rest of their lives without guidance, love or support from their father. The absolute worst part was having to see the aftermath of a senseless act of violence. Reality didn’t hit me until I looked inside the casket to see him for

I play football here at ULM and we have been in our fall camp for the last 23 days. It is a mental, physical, and emotional strain and tensions are running high. One day early on in camp we were out in the blistering heat practicing. We were almost finished when we called a screen pass and I was going to be the main blocker for the play and if I messed up it wouldn't work. Then as soon as the ball was snapped I stepped with the wrong foot first. This slowed me down and the defender was able to clobber our receiver behind the line of scrimmage. My position coach, Coach Clark, immediately ran over yelling, "What are you doing? Where is the direction you can't lose your man on that play?" I knew what I had done wrong, "I can't let him get up the

"Sometimes you gotta let something bad happen, or else you wont know how to fix things when they go wrong later."