Creative Writing: The Blackened Smoke House

The driver, Cecilia Blair, of vehicle 1 was traveling north through the intersection of N. State St. and Flint St. when she had a collision with vehicle 2. The driver, Jacqueline Muir, of vehicle 2 was heading west on Flint St. when she was struck by vehicle 1.

Then some of people noticed a new guest, dress as a clothes of the Red Death. Everyone was freaking out because of him. When Prince Prospero saw this guy, he became angry and asked courtiers to seize him and unmask him. But no one have the courage to do it, including Prospero himself. The Red Death walked through the rooms, heading toward the black room. Prospero chased him with taking his dagger. Prospero reached the edge of the dark room, the Red Death suddenly turned to face him, and Prospero fell on the ground and dead. "Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revelers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony

“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

By Saturday afternoon, the eighty-seven residents of the rural southern town of Wrongberight have suffered through four days of intense intermittent rainstorms. And to add to their misery another storm approaches the town from the northeast. Now, Clemmy Sue Jarvis since birth has lived here and has a simple philosophy concerning weather. As long as the almighty man upstairs allows her to draw a breath, she will enjoy life, regardless of the weather. At four o’clock, she lifts her petite frame into her rusty Ford pickup, and gradually eases out of her driveway. The soaring Pines that surround her home sway to the rhythm of the gusting wind as she turns south onto Flat Bottom Road and follows it along the edge the Dismal Swamp towards the isolated

Stylani shook her head, and put her attention to shutting down the equipment, carefully. Without the distraction, they wouldn’t be able to leave the upper atmospheric security nets, and everything would be for nothing. Fires would mean emergency procedures, and that meant the security nets would let shuttles pas through with just a security code.

By nightfall they had finished all of the burials. It was depressing to see how many people were dead, even more so knowing that wasn’t the majority of them. Several times throughout the day new carcasses were dumped carelessly on the dwindling pile, just adding another hole to dig.

There I stood, in the center of the city. The streets were strewn with burning mounds of trash and corpses and an

When Dutch felt they were a safe distance away, he pulled off the road. He and Gilbert jumped out, yanked the Water Company wording and emblems off the truck, and threw them a good distance from the road. Dutch and Gilbert ran to the back of the truck, looked in, and met the gaze of Marcel, Dorian and Saban. They stared at each other in wide-eyed amazement. Marcel chuckled—then laughed. Then they all laughed. They laughed so hard, tears filled their eyes. Even Cedric who was lying on his stomach on the floor of the truck was smiling. With the tension quelled, they regained their composure. Marcel cautioned Dutch to stay off the main roads. By now the Germans were broadcasting news of the raid and checkpoints would be everywhere. Marcel told

I am from roaring fires(crackling, fiery orange flames warming my face) I am from countless summer days having diving contests with Evan. I am from 55 square miles divided in half with rolling hills and lights illuminating the street at night. I am from jumping into the white powder ( as cold as ice) then running back into the burning steamy Chlorine tub. I’m from the sound of the curved stick slapping the plastic ball hard enough to vibrate my hands.

"Ye yi yo yum," annouced the giant, by the name of Gilbert. The giant's wife, Sally, grunned. She was really tired of hearing his voice. "Yes Gilbert?" The giant's wife sighed. "Where is the the hen that lays the golden eggs?" Gilbert bellowed. "Same place as usual," Sally replied. Sally had been waiting for the prophecy to happen. The prophecy of when a curious boy plants a magical seed, that grows all the way up to the realm above the clouds. Sally could hear Gilbert speaking to the hen, with a loud and clear voice. "Lay," he said. Over and over again. He came back in with the eggs. When Gilbert came back in, Sally asked: "How many eggs did our magical hen lay?" Gilbert replied: "Only ten," with only sounding like "Onaley" and ten sounding like "ton".

As the winds wisp through the willowy woods on one warm November nighttime, our worrisome subject eyes a wooden orifice far into the night. The crunch of leaves and pinestraw accompany his stroll through the midnight Mississippi forest. Spanish moss waves through the wind as Deacon, or as he is affectionately known by his friends as Deac, moves ever so closer to this new object. It is the source of his visit to this mundane backwood land that appears otherworldly to Deac. A cabin in the woods is where Deacon is making his trek to, to visit his girlfriend’s family. “They could’ve told me that I couldn’t drive to the cabin,” Deacon mumbled to himself as he battles the brisk, hard blast of the breeze in the barren woodland. Deacon reaches the door of the

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

David wasn't happy about moving, especially moving into a haunted house. Well, he wasn't sure that it was haunted. After all, he'd only ever seen it in a single picture. But David knew that an old house out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but trees, could never mean anything good.

With every step forward, she feels this burning heat seep from under her shoes. Continuing down the same road, the smell of smoke randomly chokes her up Causing her footsteps to come to a complete stop. Flames begin to soar high into the sky, smoke clouds swallow up the once sunny sky like a snake to its prey. Dark clouds surrounds her intruding her lungs so heavily making breathing a hard task to undergo. Her clothes began to cling onto her body as her skin begins to damping up.

Ludwig looked absolutely pissed. That was the first thing Arthur noticed as the blonde stalked down the halls, hair down for once, clothes askew, and such a strong irritation on his face that Arthur couldn’t help but snort to himself. It looked like someone had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, Ludwig never let his appearance be thrown together like that. The next thing Arthur noticed, however, was a little more interesting. A small statured man with silver hair, whose head only came to Ludwig’s shoulder, was hanging onto the blonde’s arm, a large grin on his lips. Now who the hell was that? It wasn’t like the Brit had seen him around school before, and Ludwig certainly hadn’t mentioned him.