Hey there. I'm currently in year 7 and I have a creative writing assignment. I've finished my draft. If it's not too much trouble, can someone pls mark it and give some advice on how to improve on it. Thxs in advance
Figures in the Night
The last remnants of light begin to dissipate into the wispy nothingness; the sun drapes its ostentatious robe along the lofty horizon, instigating the pure blackness to set in and engulf the night. With a small lingering of childish hope remaining inside, you gradually your 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 streaming down your calf and 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 disturbing the perennial silence, 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?", as you begin to conflict in your head.
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 pulsating 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 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 counter to 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 gives an almost unfathomable satisfaction. Slightly filled with curiosity, you begin exploring up the timber stairs. You land on a fleecy red and gold carpet. Shifting yourself over to the bedroom, you rest your heavy and aching back on an intricately decorated velvet quilt, as it presses back into 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 malodorous. Observing, your head turns to the rapacious growth of mildew and moss stretching endlessly across the back wall. Your inspection is abruptly halted by the creak again.
Tugging at the covers, the urge to completely cover your head is now incredibly strong. You hear a foot land on the 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 forest 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.
Blood. Dripping. Head. Spinning. Hands loosing feeling and strength. You run your fingers against your excoriated skin, with clumps of blood protruding out. Inevitably, you derive the conclusion that you can't survive for much longer. Dissimilar 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 of anything you'll see, as your life slips away from your grip.
Can someone mark my creative writing piece?? Watch
- Thread Starter
- 06-10-2017 08:25
- 06-10-2017 21:59
- 06-10-2017 21:59