Creative Writing

Sometimes, I get creative.

Every now and then, an idea for a short story flashes across my brain. Thirty minutes later, it has been written, edited, and stashed away with the others. Now, they finally have their own home.

The Window

Golden dust in the air she imagined was there, but was not. With all her might, she willed it so, wishing with all the strength her 8-year-old self could muster that it would come on the breeze and lift her into the skies. Every night, a window left cracked open. Through the bitterness of winter…

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The Thief

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. She doesn’t know whether to think of the sound as an explosive awaiting the perfect moment to detonate, or to think of it as exactly what it is. The ever-familiar sound of the clock marking the passage of time.…

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The Table

There was an empty place at the table. Every night, at 6 p.m., there it sat, expectantly waiting for its occupant. A glass filled, a fork and knife flanking an empty plate, all resting atop a patterned placemat. Every night, at 6 p.m., there it sat. Empty. Always, always empty. But always, always set. Every…

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The Path

Darkness. Pitch black for infinity with only the sounds of birds chirping in the trees. For now, that served as the background music. That is, until she pulls her headphones over her hears. When the music hits her, she opens her eyes. Before her, a cement path. It’s unimpressive, beige and cracked, flanked by grass…

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The Breeze

She closed her eyes as the first warm breeze of spring touched her face. She sat in her yard, sun on heating the earth around her and traveling up to her skin. The air filtered through her freshly washed hair, making the scent of her coconut shampoo apparent. As the aroma traveled to her nostrils,…

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The Nest

Straight and tall, full and wide, a lush green pom-pom was suspended by a thick and sturdy trunk. Nestled on a sloping piece of land in a spot that was the perfect mix of sun and shade stood the tree that would be their home. The home of their nest. It was beautiful. From the…

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The Warehouse

Gears with interlocking teeth rotating away, grinding together in their slow orbits as yet another day passes. As they turn, the lights flicker awake, pulleys and levers do their work, and the various machinery comprising this particular warehouse hums alive. Yes, another day of the gears turning, another day of the machinery, the pulleys, the…

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The Eyes with Wings

Alarms shrieked obnoxiously. Lights flashed glaringly, starkly against vast nothingness. There was yelling, loud and strong, yet for all the commotion, there was silence. If a brain could be loud, hers was. If a mind could shout, hers did. Yet when prompted to produce just what the emergency was that triggered such calamity, only a…

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A Love Letter to My Younger Self

Hey you, Do you remember when you were really young, maybe 5 years old? You used to love dreaming up who you might be when grew older, sometimes staring at your reflection in a mirror to see if you could picture yourself as anything other than a child. Here you are now, a 20-something-year-old walking…

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