Heat

            The lack of warmth was numbing. As I walked down the ice-covered street to get back to my car, my parents suddenly stopped at their doors.

            “Come on, its cold! Could you please unlock the door so we can get inside?” my little brother asked.

            Deep down I knew what was wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it. The realization had come to me as soon as we had stopped at the car. The look on my parents face told me everything I needed to know.

            After my parents explained to my siblings what was going on and they had finished their complaining we decided to go inside, where it was warm. My parents called their parents and explained what had happened.

            “There’s a spare battery as soon as you walk in the garage to the left… Yeah… Ok. See you in a little bit.”

            We waited until the store closed, and we had to sit outside in the snowy tundra, still there was no sign of my grandparents. The cold began to creep over my body. I could feel it move as it started at my toes and slowly made it’s way towards my heart.

            The headlights lit up our dark faces. The excitement overcame the freezing air and was enough to keep me warm until the truck drove right past us. The feeling of being stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no battery to start the car and keep us warm, was unbearable. After another hour my dad got a call from my grandpa saying they were five minutes away. Every car that passed meant that we were one vehicle closer to them. When they got there my family immediately got into their car to warm up. The battery was installed and all we had to do was warm up our car and we would be on our way home.

Jail Time

It could have happened to anybody, he told himself, it wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t have stopped them in time. But in his heart he knew that he hadn’t tried to stop them at all. There was time and he knew it. His life was to be full of guilt from this point on. As he walked home that night with his head down and shoulders slumped as to protect him from the burden of knowing he could have stopped a murder. He heard the sirens approach him, and he froze. He knew he was the prime suspect. He hadn’t called the police. He had left the scene and he hadn’t been very inconspicuous about that. The police officers told him his rights as they slapped the icy handcuffs around his trembling wrists. This was it. His entire life meant nothing up until this point

            At the police station, he explained that the man was coming into his store being disrespectful and disrupting his business, so he asked some of his friends to rough him up a little bit.

            “I didn’t ask them to kill him,” he explained.

            “ How do we know that?” the detective assigned to his case asked.

            They had offered him a cigarette and asked if he needed a lawyer, all the formalities that come with being in trouble with the law. If this were in the old west the sheriff wouldn’t have done anything to him. But it wasn’t, and he knew that this would go on for months, maybe years. Everyone he knew would ignore him, his business would go down the toilet and his life, as he knew it, would be over. Everything he thought about went back to the thought of his life being over. M aybe he would commit suicide. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with his family leaving him or anything sad. But he knew that was the easy way out and he needed to be a man and deal with the cards he was dealt.

            The detective left the room to confer with his superiors, and when he came back the news he carried was devastating.

“We wont be able to get you a court appearance until Tuesday. Unfortunately, we are packed so you will have to stay here until then.”

            “I can’t, I have a business to run! Please, cant I just pay bail and get out of here tonight?” the police officer could hardly understand him through his sobs.

            “I’m sorry. We will get you some food and the clothes you need to stay here. Good luck,” the cop said as he left to gather John’s prison attire.

            John went to his cell and tried to sleep, but the loud noises made by the other prisoners kept him awake. He viewed them as intoxicated scum that didn’t deserve a life outside of jail. But he quickly realized that he was now a part of this scum, and he didn’t deserve the life that he was given.

            The day of his court date had come and then went. He was sentenced to three years for conspiracy to commit murder. The years had passed, and he was finally released, a little early for turning in the man who committed the murder. The fresh air was amazing against his nostrils and it wasn’t filled with the stench that was created by his fellow inmates that he was used to. John had a chance at a new life and he wouldn’t waste it like he did before.

3 Minute Fiction

"Honor" is the first story read. I liked it because it painted a picture and it really showed the emotion of the narrator. I told who the characters were without actually saying it. The next one i read was "The Gym", I liked this story because it showed the strength of friendship between the two men and it allows you to put faces and names to them allowing your imagination to determine who the characters were. The last story that I read was "Good Luck, You Say", I liked it because it was about two people that had never met but they were associated by more than just a car crash. It wasn't my favorite but it was still captivating.

The Manuscript

The Manuscript

            The house was empty and the lights were off. The darkness gave a cold feeling that grabbed you. It was as if you would freeze as soon as you stepped inside.  In the back a light was seen, let out by the tiny crack between the ground and the door. Behind the door a man sits at his typewriter searching his mind for a way to finish his book. All he sees is a dark expanse full of nothing. His frustration boils and he takes the typewriter and throws it against the wall.

            “Dammit,” he screamed.

            He had been trying to continue his story for months. The company that published his first book had him sign a contract for three books in five years. He had completed one within the first year and it had seen more success than ever could have imagined. But it had been three years since he had started this story and it was going nowhere. He had a good beginning but midway through he just drew a blank. Everything he tried didn’t work. It all seemed forced, and unnatural. All his creativity had left him. His book sat there all alone on his desk waiting for a new page to come along and save it from the mountain of dust collecting upon its weak foundation. He had experienced writers block before, but this was no ordinary writers block. This was something more.

            “Hello?” He said as he answered the phone.

            “Hey, Mark,” a familiar voice answered.

            “Oh hey how’s it going?”

            “Good, but I need that manuscript by Monday.”

“Ok, ill see what I can do…. Ok…. You too… all right by then.”

            Mark knew that they wouldn’t accept an unfinished book so he had to finish the entire story in a week. He decided to go for a walk. As he stepped out into the cold stormy night he heard the snow crunch beneath his feet. The sound broke the perfect silence that he needed to think of a way to finish his book.

            Mark had grown up in the same place when he was a child. He never moved and even when he got a job he decided to stay in the same town. But when he got that major book contract he needed to move to the city close to the building that housed the publishing company. When he was a kid he always wrote short stories and always wanted to become a writer. He thought he could write a story in a heartbeat. And he probably could have, but now he had exhausted all his options and all he needed was to think.

            He was thinking about everything that he had done and everything that was going on around the word. Wars, elections, family dinners, and then suddenly he stopped. Screeching to a halt he knew what he had to write. He ran back to his house and slammed the door behind him, and began to type;

Before he was able to get out of the house a man in a military coat came up to his door. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see his family for a while. He had to immediately go to camp. His…

: this was it he was writing furiously. Smoke was rising from the typewriter as his fingers went faster than the speed of light. He knew this would make a great story. It would have even more success than his other book. But it was about the success, he had written a great story and that was what mattered.

Show, Don't Tell

He appeared in the night wearing the black cloak that signified his whole being. His eyes were black and it was as if he was peering into your soul. He had antagonized my world for centuries. No one knew if he was real, but I knew. I had seen him many times in our own personal battles over the years. I had tried to keep myself as inconspicuous as I could but as soon as someone realized my age he was there ready to pounce on me at any time. He had run me out of my own home, away from my own family and made it look as if I had murdered my own brother. I had been shunned and it was all his fault. I was done hiding, I knew that I had get back at him for all the wrong that he had done to me.

Welcome

LET'S GET READHY TO RAH-RUUUMBLE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! CREATIVE WRITING BLOG! ALL DAY! EVERY DAY!