Tales of Tenth Grade

It’s the final countdown b l og post ! To round out this year of creative writing, here's one last short story! Junebug Unfamiliar perfume on his collar, disheveled hair when he walked in the door, even on days when it wasn’t windy, late nights in the ward; I knew the symptoms, the signs. I’d even venture to say they were far too familiar for such a picket-fence, house-in-the-suburbs type of couple like ourselves. Sometimes I wondered if I was the cause of some of them; I knew I was a failure of a housewife. But I didn’t dwell on that thought too long; my phone chimed with a text, and it was well-enough for a distraction. I typed out a response, the name of my recipient had fallen from my lips far too many times, but I didn’t dwell on that either. Michael would be home soon, a lovely casserole was waiting in the oven for both of us, and it was almost ready. I plodded over to the kitchen, admiring the array of photos lining the walls on my way ther...

          After reading The Lord of the Flies , I've been reflecting on the hunting aspect of the book a lot.  And with that, I was thinking about how the experience would be different--more domesticated.  I revisioned this as a family hunting trip between father and daughter.  So without further ado, I present The Hunt: _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Hunt Large flakes drift toward the ground and join with the other fallen soldiers covering the greenery.  Virtually untouched, a chalky blanket of fresh powder lines the hillsides.  Nothing but two sets of footprints and one of a hoofed mammal penetrate the frozen sheet, heading toward a forest of barren trees.  Snow clings to every crevice of the shrubbery, in stark contrast to the crimson blood trail. Further in the trees a bundled-up man with a salt-and-pepper beard carrie...

Yes, this is another short story/creative writing piece. No, I'm not sorry. (Are you tired of them yet?) So, you may be wondering how this relates to something we've done in class. (I was too, initially.) Well, our first unit was on structure so I experimented with the structure of this story, isolating certain lines for emphasis/effect (and whatnot). Hope you enjoy the story! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Motels and Emancipation           Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.           The soft plunk of water droplets sliding in through the crack in the roof plopped noisily into a tin can.           Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.           The drips coincided with the loud analog clock mounted on the wall to his left. He couldn’t help but crack a smile. He was right, time and mother ...