Creativewritng Stories

UUUUUUUHHHHH idk how to even explain this one I think I was angry about my mom and family the day I wrote this, the second chapter is a poem I wrote for my brother the night before this writing as well. I don't think people will read this story the same way I do, but that's the beauty of POV, isn't it? Also PS: I wrote about a "death" in the first part, this is metaphorical, not reality. Please keep that in mind. Preview: My mother has the saddest eyes one has ever seen. Her eyes will grab ahold of you and rip you to pieces, she will break your heart and wring you out, all within a bat of her tiny eyelashes. She will, she will, she will. Never doubt her. She is a glorified woman, Proceeded by merely the feeblest bones and emptiest skulls. Those eyes, sacks of whiskey and gold, drown those who come across her. I wish to love her, to run into the fog and meet her on the other side-to take in the shea butter scent in the winter snow, with the love and grace every mother should bestow on her child.

Wrote this when I was going through something a little while back, edited and fixed it up before publishing. Preview: Whenever I think about the summers, I think about how loud and heartless the summers were, waves tugging over one another, sand and pebbles whipping around within the current, and wind dousing my wet face. The wind cradled my head, it's cool fingertips tracing my nose, and leaving soft red kisses on my pale skin. My secrets stay written within every curly wave, every sunken goggle, and every strand of soggy seaweed getting wrapped around children's ankles. I lay atop soft blankets of water, the waves rocking me to sleep, my hands being held by the soft clouds, and my freckles being painted orange like the summer's setting sky. Every summer night, I watched the sun burn out and welcome the cool night moon with fiery palms. And when I ran through the sweet summery nights with my friends, my heart bled into the stars of the night sky, the loud homey summer sounds persisted and my ears felt static. The world as I knew it consisted of nothing but mosquito bites and fireflies that whispered into my ears, feigning forgetfulness as I am left behind........

Westburg Space Prep is what you would expect from an astronaut training school: anti-gravity pads, mission control training, satellite navigation, you know the drill. But when self-proclaimed notorious school detective Owen Gnat decides to go wandering one day to a locked door underneath the school, he finds a secret message from aliens. Now, Owen is out for answers for both him and his classmates. As the stakes get higher throughout the year, Owen is close to cracking under the pressure. Will he be able to call "case closed?" Or will he spend the rest of his year in detention? Written by an 8th grade student for a creative writing class :)

This one is a little murky, and ig kinda horrorish.....????? I have no idea I just word vomit and fix spelling and grammar to the best of my ability. I really have no idea how to write. Anyway here's a preview of the work: Through the double edged sword within my chest, I can see myself, young and blossoming before the large ever-growing trees, deep within forests filled with skeletons covered by wisps of white cobwebs, crawling with spiders nipping at the bone. Cool air tucks my hair behind my ears, frost crawling up my fingertips leaving me frozen within these parts, a story never forgotten but never to be told. The sky expands and crushes winged birds above me, painting the sky and my humble hands black. Black enough to see down within them, into the sunken earth, their eyes stare back into mine, smiling their crooked smiles, all three of them. It feels so cold, it hurts to blink and the stench of dead animal crowds my vision as it gags me and strings me up by my head. Singsong voices crawling from the dirt within my hands as monsters erupt before me. Scraping at my arms and legs begging for a change. They pluck my eyes out to feast on, and rip the spine from my back to use as a walking stick on their travels of the world, new, fresh, levitating people on to make their own journey of the things they have stolen from me.