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    • Thread Starter

    Hey there! I'm in 7th grade right now and I'm finishing off a draft for my creative writing assignment. If it's not too much trouble, could you please look through it and see for any writing errors/creative aspect. Thanks

    Writing piece :

    Figures in the Night

    The last remnants of light begin to dissipate into the wispy nothingness; the pure blackness begins to set in and engulf the night. A small lingering of childish hope remains inside of you. Gradually, you make your way up off the ground by nudging your shoulders against the bough of a tree and pushing your body up. Your leg is still dripping blood; those drops seeming like the only colour at this time. Drops of deep crimson running against your calf and down onto the floor, leaving a trail of agony. Hustling yourself on one leg, you begin to etch and amble forward, trying to balance yourself.

    Tensing up, your eyes are struggling to discern anything in this place. Every tree just looks like simple inarticulate stumps of a dull brown and black. The only way you can see something is by its silhouette, but even that is barely visible. The thick undergrowth obstructs the moonlight from reaching anything in the forest. You continue your track, limping and at times falling down.

    The scene was ghost-quiet. Suddenly, you hear a crack of a stick coming about ten paces behind you. Swiftly, you turn your head, but much to your surprise, there's no one there. A resonating feeling of consternation begins to set in. Promptly, you start reassuring yourself that it's simply nothing and try to suppress your infantile fears.

    "There's nothing to be frightened of. But why would you be scared? There's nothing there", as you begin to conflict in your head.
    Again! There it is again! This time, you don't dare to look back. Instead, you increase your pace and keep hobbling forward.

    After a while, you no longer hear any noise other than the dense sound of silence filling your ears. Recollecting yourself, you assume who or whatever was pursuing you, you've managed to lose them. However, you're hopelessly lost yourself.

    A small beam of light broadens your vision. Consequently, the entire scenery becomes clear to you. The neatly brick-paved road leads to a small, humble wooden cottage, with a single window at the top peering over the vast forest. Through it, a ray of yellow ominous light breaks. Around you is a sporadic scattering of large oak trees, stripped of their leafage.

    Instinctively, your anxiety tells you not to. Nevertheless, you keep on going towards the cottage. It was your only source of comfort and some form of shelter. Seemingly, someone was inside, considering the light. So you knock on the door, the noise resonating through each small hallway, corridor, and room. There's no answer. Placing your fist against the door, you knock again. This time, the door creaks open.

    Slowly, you waver your foot forward. Hesitant, you start to pad your feet on the mat. The soft bristle rubbing against the underside of your foot is almost unfathomably satisfying. Slightly filled with curiosity, you begin exploring up the timber stairs. You land on the soft red and gold carpet. Shifting yourself over to the bedroom, you rest your heavy and aching back on the soft velvet quilt as it presses back against the mattress.

    With an exasperated sigh, you lean back and presses into the cushion with a hefty thud. Immediately, a creak of timber reverberates from the hallway. "What was that?" You presume it must have been the sliding of wood due to the old nature of this cottage. Now mentioning it, the entire room smells quite musty and malodorous. Observing, your head turns to the rapacious growth of mildew and moss stretching endlessly across the back wall. Abruptly, there's that creak again.

    Tugging at the covers, the urge to completely cover your head is now incredibly strong. You hear a foot land on the soft carpet. Was this the thing that was following you the underbrush? Nauseated, your legs turn into noodles, your eyes bags of bleach and hair poison needles. Blood is rapidly flowing from your leg, staining the sheets.

    But you consider to yourself that it couldn't have, as you didn't hear anything in the underbrush after two or three cracks. But that realisation pangs you in the head. The rest of the pathway was entirely paved neatly with bricks. So no matter if something or someone was following you, there was basically no medium to convey noise. You hold your breath.
    Blood. Dripping. Head. Spinning. Hands loosing feeling and strength. You start wishing you never walked into the forest, or at least been more careful not to stumble right into a bear trap, excoriating your skin.

    Inevitably, you come to the conclusion that you can't survive for much longer. Dissimilarity to the rest of the forest, this was the only place where the moon is visible, casting shadows as they dance across your eyes. The last dance or anything you'll see, as your life slips away from your grip.

    This is EXTREMELY impressive for a person who's in grade seven. I'm in grade 9 and I can't even write like that. I honestly don't think that your short story needs any editing. You'll get an A+ on that for sure! Keep on writing! 🙂🙂
    • Thread Starter

    Thank you so much
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Updated: October 6, 2017
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