Anxiety

Suddenly, your mouth drops from a smile, and your eyebrows crinkle.

You take a sharp breath,

There’s nowhere near enough air in the world to satisfy you.

Fingernails dig into your tender skin,

Clenching your hands, as if you’re holding on for dear life.

So many sudden negative feelings…

Your muscles begin to freeze up, and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Want to get up, but can’t.

Want to cry for help, but can’t.

Want to escape from this hell, but can’t.

Beginning to regain a little bit of consciousness, your hand reaches over for your phone to text a friend.

“You can’t do that. You just want attention.”

A frown builds, and there’s this sudden burst of anger within you.

“I can’t do this anymore”

Warm tears finally stream down.

You’re on the floor, hugging at a pillow, sobbing.

“I’m crazy.”

Picking up your phone again, you begin to scroll through social media.

Smiles.

Friends.

Fun.

All of their ‘happiness builds’ up and becomes your own rage.

“Why can’t I be like that?”

“You don’t deserve anything.”

“You’re not as good as you think you are.”

“You’re a fake.”

“Nobody likes you.”

“i know…”

Sobbing.

Screaming.

Breaking things.

And then,

As randomly as it started,

You feel fine.

“it’s over…

-Izzy G., 7th Grade

Smoke, Fog and Haze

This short free write is based on a writing prompt I saw online. The prompt is not mine, but the writing is. Write about not being able to see ahead of you.

My attempts to find a shred of light in the dark abyss were in vain. There was nothing but emptiness and everything was covered in a drab grey blanket. Every direction I turned there seemed to be a dense cloud, trapping me, confining me. My other senses were heightened in place of my impaired vision, but I wish they hadn’t. They intensified my fear. My eardrums tingled at the whistling wind that entwined itself in the creaking tree branches and my arms prickled at the slightest kiss of the chilling evening air. Darkness wrapped itself around my body and placed a tight blindfold over my frantic eyes.

I looked down at my feet, or at least I tried. I wiggled my toes, just making sure they were still there even if I couldn’t see them. Every day I had counted on my trustworthy feet to carry me exactly where I needed to go, but today was different. They didn’t know where to go. It was almost like the GPS in my feet were shut down, like my toes had lost their sense of direction, like my heels were permanently glued to the ground. The thick, smokey world around me shackled my feet to fear and uncertainty. Ironically, taking a leap of faith into the abyss was my only option.

Outstretching my frozen hands, I waved into the void and found emptiness. Each swipe into the nothingness looming before me brought another wave of chills that ran down my back. With a sharp intake of cold breath, I drew up the courage to place one foot in front of me. The dry earth beneath me crunched with a magnificent sound that seemed to echo around me. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to take the next step. Breath by breath and step by step, I teetered my way down the road.

After awhile, pitch black darkness still hindered my sight and all I could hear was my jagged breath. It seemed that I had been trekking for hours and miles, but with the blackness clouding the path behind me, it was hard to tell how far I had actually walked. By now, fear had stopped pulsing through my veins and exhaustion seeped into my bones. The adrenaline that had rushed through my body earlier tired me. My eyelids felt so heavy, but closing them was no different than holding them open and somehow, holding them open made me feel a little braver. Each step required more energy than the last and my arms slowly stopped waving in front of my body. The very feet that carried me this far wanted so desperately to give up. Through the smoke, fog and haze, I felt more hopeless and alone than ever.

-Jessica T.

Creative Writing Prompts

Creative writing is like painting without needing art supplies. I can write just about everywhere and it is a great way for me to relieve my stress and I would like to share some interesting creative writing prompts that I found online. These prompts are only prompts that I thought interesting, they’re not original.

  • I woke up and everything was grey…
  • Describe a thunderstorm without using the sense of hearing.
  • Write about a funeral from the deceased man’s perspective.
  • Write about the moment you knew you would leave.
  • Write about a girl who added a charm to her key chain for every life she took.
  • Write about a world where people didn’t know what a sunset is.
  • Death was watching you outside the window when you were born… fascinated by life, death watched you every day. Death watched as you fell, Death watched you as you got bullied, and Death watched as you go kidnapped.
  • I sat up with a jolt. Where am I?!
  • Holograms surround me… water engulfs me… In this perfect world, I can scarcely breathe… Save me…
  • Earth is known as the quarantine planet by all other planets…
  • You got a deep cut for the first time. Instead of blood, you see red wires.
  • “Aren’t you going to do anything?” “I was paid to protect you from abuse, not you own stupidity”
  • You can taste lies…
  • Take your 5 favorite books. Take the setting from the first book. The antagonist from the second. The protagonist from the third. The genre from the forth, and the opening sentence from the fifth.
  • Write about the sound and color of loneliness.
  • Write about the feeling of happiness.
  • Write from the perspective of Death.
  • “I wish I could just forget…”
  • “Trust me” “You want to start a fire!” “Not the point…”
  • Where did this wall come from?
  • Has Paris always looked this way?

-Angela L.

Awakening

With this writing piece, I have attempted to give Cayde-6 (RIP), from the games Destiny and Destiny 2, a backstory. Hope you enjoy.


The dying sun slowly drags itself above the horizon, illuminating the slums with its dismal crimson glow. I know I should already be working, but my last job paid well, and I had allowed myself extra rest. A few revelers stumble around the alley, still holding champagne glasses from last night. Happy 2093, I sarcastically think, Another year of wars, chemical leaks, and poverty. 

I know that a select few in the aristocracy are quite wealthy and charitable, but like the sunlight, not much makes it to the lowest levels of the concrete labyrinth. Above, I hear the roar of a transport ship, taking a few lucky people off this wreck of a planet. I need to get working, or I’ll sleep on an empty stomach tonight. I stretch, stand, and make my way into the crowded streets, scanning the throngs for promising “benefactors”. After a few minutes, I spot a likely target.

He appears flustered and busy, not focusing on the hordes around him. His wallet is gone before he even turns around, and in five minutes, I’m having a nice hot breakfast by one of the countless food stands. I still have a few credits left, and I stow them in a hiding spot. I’m going to buy my ticket off this dump someday.

As the day drags on, I meet a few more “generous” commuters, and by the time the red sunlight fades, I’m full and as happy as a street urchin can be. I find my way back to my alley, and am just about to doze off under a tattered blanket when I hear a strange humming coming from behind a scrap pile.

Once I shovel the rusted metal and old parts away, I see a glint of steel-blue. I dig more frantically now, my hopes rising. As I pull away the last piece of rubble, I nearly shout with joy. Beneath the trash lies a small personal spacecraft. It must have accidentally been jettisoned from a transport. But is it functional?

I slip into the cockpit, press a few buttons, and the entire console lights up, bombarding me with beeps and whistles as the systems come online. I am jubilant, not daring to believe my success. This ship is hope, a star in a dark night. My name is Cayde, and I am free.

-Joshua M.

Silent

The silence woke her. It was all wrong, it was too quiet. Yet, the radio played in the background and there were people dancing everywhere. However, it seemed as if her brain muted the sounds and they seem to dim and eventually disappear. She was a lonely flower in the cracked, dry earth, while others were bright, warm flowers in a meadow. They were everything that she was not, and they ridiculed her, laughed at her, pointed at her. She didn’t really care. At least, she thought they didn’t bother her anymore.

She wondered what silence sounded like, as it was what woke her. As hard as she tried, her memory seemed to be muffled and covered up. She couldn’t remember what really woke her. Was it really the silence? Or was it more? At first she thought silence must sound white, lifeless, and dreary. Then she walked up to the attic. In this dusty, light-filled room, silence became something entirely different. It was placid and almost warm. It was still and it was almost beautiful. Unlike downstairs, in this attic, she no longer felt beleaguered by the dancing people and the wild party. All of a sudden, she opened her eyes and felt the lurid scene unfold in front of her. She was immediately ill and she sprinted down, turned on the Christmas music, and attempted to calm her illness. This illness defined her unlike anything else, and she let it because she lacked the courage to overpower it. It was due to this illness that she always faints and she always questioned the sounds of existence. She thought that she was insane. She had no friends and her parents are constantly fretting over her. However, what she doesn’t see was that what she has is not a mental illness. It is her own personality dying to shine through the mask that she has covered it up with. Inside, she was beautiful.

-Angela L.

Daybreak

He has a problem. A very very serious problem.

He cares. Perhaps a little too much. But no one could stop him from caring.

He is criticized and laughed at and people point their dirty, cynical fingers at him while wearing that cheshire smile.

That didn’t stop him from caring.

His friends tease him, warn him, laugh at him. Are they really his friends? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Well, are they?

He is waiting, wide awake at the bottom of an endless ocean of dreams. He knows that his dream is merely fantasy and wishful thinking.

Yet he’s wide awake.

He hopes that his friends will one day understand the pain and the frustration of caring. He hopes, he yearns.

He often asks “Why do I care so much? Why can’t I accept things the way they are?”

Because he cares. Cares a bit too much… No harm in caring, they say. Be happy, they say. Be grateful as long as they are happy, they say.

Don’t you want to be happy, my boy? The accept it. Accept the pain. Learn to live with the callous; then, and only then, will you be truly happy.

He never believed them, his heart is like a drum beating the word “care”, his heart tells him to break that stereotype.

Or has he gone mad?

Is it a combination of both?

He is alone. Very very alone.

Then comes a girl.

Never has he dreamed of finding such happiness. But this girl, she is his light, his world, his heart.

With her, he could care, he’s free as a dove in the bright, warm sunlight.

His friends questioned him, their curious glances never escaped him.

“They talk”

“Let them talk, West.”

She set him free, she erased the heavy clouds and the suffocating weight. He’s happy. He’s free at last.

“Thank you”

 

-Angela L.

run.exe

A dim light engorged the workstation of a profile, emitting from a luke-warm bulb clasped onto the left side of the desk by sheer force alone. The careful clacking of the keyboard reverberated throughout the bare space, occasionally finding objects to rebound off back into the expanse. Scattered at the desk was a multitude of everyday items; pens, books, papers. The figure continued to manipulate the keys of the keyboard, each digit gliding across the surface of the accessory with calculated ease. If one listened closely, a faint murmur of a television permeated the surroundings, largely ignored by the single occupant of the room.

From a spectator’s view, the body positioned in the office chair could only barely be made out to be human of nature. But something was off about the way the being sat attentively, never wavering from the tip-tapping of the keyboard, the pixels of the screen it was seemingly engrossed by changing from black to white, stuck in a perpetuated loop of illumination followed by the extinguishing of all three primary colored bulbs, pristine white followed by a bleak darkness.

The keyboard had stopped emitting sound for a period of time now, and the television’s droning voices were no longer present. Only the light remained constant, the bulb emanating a cold warmth to the subject beneath it. The world seemingly stood still now that the only motion had ceased. The only light that had casted upon the desk abruptly vanished, leaving only the solemn glow of the monitor. A few clicks could be heard creeping from the workspace, but soon all returned back to silence. The screen shut off, darkness crept from the corners of the room and soon engulfed all that dared occupy it.

The empty blackness lingered for some time before a dim light engorged the workstation of the profile, sad rays of light casting themself upon the smooth figure below it. A clear plasticity could be identified in the robotic figure. Perhaps most striking though, was the lack of any human resemblance. It was simply a husk, mechanically typing into another machine, performing this minute task for an unknown amount of time. This repeats, the cycle continues on and on, dim light engorging followed by darkness creeping in, out of times’ domain. Never wavering, the man types his thoughts for the only entity that will ever experience them, an insentient machine.

-Shaun G.