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Creative Writing story

20 Jan


“The answer should be obvious.”

“Well it isn’t. Again, why are you here?”

The truth was I didn’t know why I was there. I came on an impulse; something I had the unfortunate habit of following. It was, after all, just six months before that I had left her on her front porch crying, after letting her know, ever so nicely, that I never wanted to see her again. Yet here I was, on Annabelle’s front porch, again.

“I don’t know, Annie,” I said, sounding as small as I felt.

“Don’t call me by that, I hate when you do that. What happened to not wanting to see me again? Or did you forget?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t forget. I just wanted to see you. I don’t know why. I guess I just felt bad about how I ended things with you,” the situation wasn’t getting any better.

“You should feel bad. You have no right being here Erik. No right at all. So why don’t you leave. I don’t want to see you ever again, and unlike you I mean it,” her anger was overflowing now.

I don’t really know what had lead me to ending it with her that night. Or even why I did it like I did. I guess I was just angry and bitter. She was the only child of an upper class family. I was the middle child of five, from a lower middle class family. I guess the class difference just got to me overtime. Other than that I can’t think of one thing that was possibly wrong with our relationship.

“I came to say that I am sorry, Annabelle. I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I was wrong. I never should have said those things to you. I was wrong for letting my insecurities get the best of me,” it was the only thing I knew to say.

“What? Did you think that by coming here to apologize it would make anything better? Please tell me that you didn’t think that, for the slightest second, I would consider forgiving you. You don’t get that privilege. Not from me. Not now. Not ever,” she was yelling now,” Erik. Leave.”

“Anna…” I started.

“Leave,” She yelled, tears now rolling down her cheeks.

What else could I do? I looked at her one last time, then turned around and headed for my car. I don’t really know what I thought I would accomplish by coming here, it was after all just on an impulse that I did. What was clear was she would never forgive me, and who could blame her? I had messed up.

“And Erik,” She said from the porch.


“I meant what I said, I never want to see you again,” she said, before turning around and walking inside.


Creative Writing Story

30 Nov

Point of View

The fall air was cold against the skin, stinging with each new burst of wind. Leaves crunched underneath Bright’s feet as he walked. Beside him, keeping the same measured stride was Sophie. It had been a while since either had said anything, each focused on their nameless destination. Bright looked over at her and couldn’t help but admire the way her hair fell across her shoulders; or the greenish gray eyes that always seemed to help mask her, already, enigmatic personality; or even the style of clothes she wore, a mix between hipster and hippie. He wondered what they were doing here with one another. This had been her idea after all. Another burst of wind attacked his face as they continued to walk.

The colors of fall were in full swing now, with trees decorated in orange, brown, and gold. The grass was on the verge of dying, an unavoidable casualty that came as an unwanted constant every fall. Overhead the sky was gray, a sign that the chill in the air was here to stay and wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Up ahead, in the distance, the sound of running water filled the silence that lived in between the gusts of wind.

What was she doing? Just an hour before Sophie had known exactly what she wanted to say. She had rehearsed it in her head over, and over, and over again before calling Bright, making sure that this very thing wouldn’t happen. Shows what good that did. With him actually in front of her she was at a loss for words. Other than some introductory lines, seeing how the other had been and just getting caught up, not a word had been said. Instead they just walked. She glanced over and caught him looking at her. She knew he was expecting something, but she just continued walking, still not able to find the words. She pulled her jacket tight, as a gust of wind hit her.

In the distance a face was put to the sound of the running water, as a creek could now be made out. It wound around a hill side, and was shaded under multicolored canopies made up by the trees around it. The leaves already began to fill the creek, and soon would envelope it. The sound of the running water became louder as they inched closer; the rush of the water echoing off the hill side, making the creek seem bigger than it actually was.

Bright looked up at the vast emptiness of the sky. It had been 6 months since the last time either had had seen each other, their last encounter being one of disaster. He had made the unfortunate move of showing all of his cards, an impulse that you should never ever succumb to. After a night of restlessness he had ended up on her door step at two in the morning. He had told her everything. He had told her how whenever he was around her he had to actually stop himself from staring. He told her how even on his worst days, he could always count on her making them brighter. He told her how sometimes he would make some of the lamest excuses to see her. He told her too much. She just wasn’t looking for that. She tried to explain that she wasn’t in a place where what he wanted could be possible, but he didn’t want to hear it. He knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was her.

The creek was close now. The sound of the water echoed louder than ever. It wouldn’t be long before they would have to stop and talk, or turn around and go home. This would be the climax, something they both knew. Once they got to the creek, the truth behind this whole trip would come out.

How had he done it? How was he able to come out and say point blank, “You’re the one I want.” How was he able to do it, when now she couldn’t work up the courage to even find the words that would put justice to what she had to say? Better question, why had she reacted the way she did when he had told her? She had wanted it too. Now that she wanted him to know her feelings, she was too afraid to let him in on the secret. There had just always been something about Bright. Maybe it was the way his Green eyes always had a sense of wonder. Or was it the way that he could turn a bad situation into a memorable event? Or maybe, even, that no matter what, he could always make her laugh. Whatever it was, it worked.

Bright looked over at Sophie as they came to a stop at the creek bed, she looked to be lost in deep thought. “So what are we doing here, Soph?” he asked, trying to nudge the encounter along.

She looked up at him, as if noticing for the first time that he was there. She still didn’t know what to say, so she just looked at him.

“Is everything alright?” he wanted to know what was going on more than ever.

“Of course everything is alright,” she didn’t want him to worry over nothing. This wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Well then, what is all of this about? Why did you call me?”

It was now or never, she had to make her move,” I called you for the same reason that you showed up on my doorstep the last time we talked.” She stopped and when he didn’t say anything she continued, “When you told me how you felt, I didn’t know what to say. More than that I was scared. I was scared because I felt the same way about you. I made up some lame excuse for why this wouldn’t work and I am sorry Bright. I should have told you this 6 months ago, but I want to be with you.”

Bright didn’t say anything.

“Bri…” she began, but before she could finish out his name, his lips were on hers, and their arms interlocked.

He pulled away for a moment, smiling, “ I had hoped you would say that.”

The Agency

30 Sep

“Heather, Run.”

Click. Boom.

The sound of the gun resonated through the warehouse, making it sound louder than it actually was. I glanced behind me, sparing only a second, to make sure Heather was getting away safely; the gun rested cold in my hand. She had stopped, most likely from the fear of hearing the sound of the gun shot.

“Heather, keep running,” I yelled back to her,” I have this under control.”

She hadn’t signed up for this. I had. I was recruited young by The Agency. The Agency. Such a generic name for an organization whose purpose was anything but.

In front of me stood a man clad in all black. He was shaved bald, with a scar that spread across his scalp. He looked to be of Latino descent, but you could never tell with these kinds of people. Our guns were locked on one another.

“You know what we want Llexton,” his voice not betraying where he was from.

“I do, but you can’t have it,” I said, sounding confident.

“Fine, we will take her from you.”

The Agency had recruited me my junior year of high school. It was after I had scored well on some aptitude test or another; one of the many random ones you have to take throughout your high school career. I was never really told what they based their selection on, but they contacted me.

Before he could finish “you” I had already begun firing my gun again. He ducked and rolled to the left. I was expecting it; lowering my gun to where I thought he would be. This time he wasn’t so fast; one of my bullets pierced his shoulder as he tried to jump away again.

I heard him before I saw him, managing to get out of the way before he could get a lock on me. To my right another black clad man, this one sporting a long blonde ponytail; most likely German. He must have been there the entire time, waiting for the best time to strike. I focused on him and fired off a round. It missed, but gave me enough time to react to the new player in the game.

The Agency had trained me. They wanted me, as of all members of the organization, to be a weapon. They taught me how to fight. They taught me how to shoot. Most of all they taught me how to deceive. We were players in a game of war, and the world was our battlefield.

He was smarter than his partner. Instead of letting me force him into the positions that I wanted him in, he took up an automatic offense. He fired at me, almost supernaturally knowing each move I would make. It was taking everything I had to keep a half a second ahead of him. I could feel the rush of air as each bullet missed by centimeters. I finally got to cover, by jumping behind a stack of boxes.

“Why is it that you want her so bad,” I asked from behind my hiding place, trying to stall for more time to think.

“The same reason that you don’t want us to have her,” it was the Latino man that answered.

“All she is to me is a mission; they don’t tell us lowly foot soldiers the reason behind any of our assignments,” it was a lie.

The Agency had given me this assignment believing that I was the best man for the job. It was simple; I was supposed to infiltrate Heather’s life and become a close friend to her. She was daughter of a very powerful man; one who could change the outcome of many things politically. The Agency felt it in their best interest to protect the daughter of such a man; finding it dangerous to leave her unguarded. If ever kidnapped, many bad decisions could be forced to be made by her father.

The Agency had enrolled me in her private college over a year ago. From there I proceeded with my mission of befriending the girl to get a better stance to protect her with. Deception was my best talent, and it didn’t take long for me to get a key position in her life. We became close. Closer than I ever anticipated. Then things changed in ways that I never expected them to.

“Come on Llexton, we know you’re smarter than that,” this time it was the German, he also was without accent, “we read your file. We know you’re in the upper ranks of The Agency.”

“Aww you read my file, that makes me feel all sorts of special inside,” always cocky.

“Listen here you are going to give us the girl, we will kill you. Your life doesn’t matter to us,” it was the Latino; I had got under his skin, his voice betrayed his position.

He was already injured. With a gunshot wound in his right shoulder, he would be slower than his counterpart. Keeping his approximate position in mind I leapt out from behind the boxes, made a lock, and fired. This took him by surprise; the bullet penetrating his chest. He fell to the floor; unmoving. I quickly jumped behind another stack of boxes, as a bullet flew by. One down. One to go.

Then I heard the fast pace of footsteps. It was the German he was running towards the door Heather had went out. Cursing to myself, I ran out, trying to get him in my line of sight but it was too late. He was already heading out the door. Without hesitating, I followed.

Heather slowly started meaning more and more to me. The more I hung out with her the more I liked everything about her. This conflicted greatly with my mission; and if The Agency had ever found out, I would be terminated on the spot. None of this mattered to me. Things progressed between us.

The German’s gun was locked on Heather, “ Come with me, and you won’t get hurt.”

“Heather don’t listen to him.”

“Llexton, what is going on? Why is this happening?” She pleaded , fear hung on every word.

“I can explain later.”

“Why don’t you tell her Llexton?” The German said mockingly, “ Tell her about The Agency. Tell her about your assignment to get closer to her. Tell her about the deception.”

“Llexton?” she asked, confusion and hurt present on her face.

“Hea…” I was cut off by the sound of an helicopter over head.

“Looks like it is our pick up,” the German said, obviously happy at this fact.

I was helpless to do anything. If this ended up in a gun fight, Heather would be put in danger; but she would also be put in danger if I didn’t do anything. I was frozen with indecrsion. Behind Heather the Helicopter landed.

A squad of three men jumped out of the Helicopter. They grabbed Heather pulling her torwards their get away. They pulled her into danger. They pulled her away from me.

“Llexton,” She screamed as she disappeared into the black of the helicopter.

The Helicopter took off, leaving behind only the German with a smile of victory on his face. I would end that.

I locked my gun on my oppenent. His gun was locked on me. I was tired, and angry, and just didn’t care anymore. I let my training take over. I jumped to the side, leading my oppenent and fired. The bullet hit and he crumpled. He was still alive but not for long. I walked up to him, and finished it.

I was left alone.

Filled with sorrow.

I had failed.

Short Story for Creative Writing Class

26 Aug


The punch didn’t meet its mark. I was too fast for the bulky muscle head, with years of experience taking on poser fighters who actually believed muscle mass mattered in a fight. I quickly switched from defense to offense, managing to hit my opponent in the face. He was taken back; he wasn’t use to fighting someone who actually knew how to defend themselves. With another punch to his stomach, fear began to show in his eyes, knowing that I now had the upper hand.

Rain poured over head, with an occasional bolt of lightning, followed shortly by the sound of thunder. Around us the buildings that made up our campus were soaked black from the onslaught of the storm. No one was around us, their sanity in check, avoiding the dark day outside. Nature seemed to agree with our moods, making it the perfect day for a fight of such consequence.

With a quick side step to the left, I dodged another of his punches. I followed up with another quick blow to his side. He jumped back, his face a mask of pain. With anger, he charged at me, catching me by surprise, landing a punch to my stomach. I doubled back in pain. The fight wasn’t over.

I took a step back, trying to stay out of arms reach from him. I had to end it soon; I couldn’t take another punch like that. Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and I decided to make my move.

With a false step to the right, I threw him off guard, following up with a roundhouse punch that connected to his cheek. He went down to his knees. Rain continued to pour over us as I stood over him, weary to the fact that he could get up at any moment, but knowing that I had won.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” I spoke down to him.

He looked up at me, a bruise already beginning to form where my punch had landed on his cheek,” You know good and well that I couldn’t sit by and let you take her from me. Would you have?”

“I didn’t take her from you. She left you. She was tired of what you were putting her through. She was tired of you not letting her have any freedom. Frankly, she was tired of you.”

This is what it had come down to; me looking down to him, after a fight that shouldn’t have happened. The storm continued around us. Every now and then a gust of wind blew the rain harder against me. I wanted to walk away. I wanted this to be over. I was sick of all of this. Before I did that, though, I had to make sure it was over for good.

It wasn’t.

He lunged towards me, violent, looking to get in any hit that he could.

I was expecting it though. Before he could manage to get close enough to make contact, I let out a round house kick that connected to his face. Blood began to pour from his nose, as he hit the ground.

Angry at the situation, I walked away.