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Creative Writing PORTFOLIO
Morgan
Creative Writing
CONTENTS
01 03
Introduction
Author’s Forward
Non-fiction
Personal Narrative
05
Fiction
07
Formal Poetry
09
Free-Verse Poetry
11
Flash Fiction
12
Original Drafts
Without You
Haiku. Triolet. Cinquain. Skeltonic
Anxiety. Stormy Love. You Are an Art Piece. Demon Child.
Paralyzed. Chaos.
Anxiety Poem. Too Many Poem. Triolet. Personal Narrative. Flash Fiction
1
Author’s Forward Over the course of open campus creative writing, there have been many new writing techniques that I have learned. In many of my works, I have used imagery to create vivid settings. I believe that imagery is important to include as it truly shows the reader the scene. When an author uses imagery, they become an artist painting a picture, only they use words not paint. Describing all details engages the reader and can help to evoke certain feelings in them. A perfect example of work in which I used imagery is my imagist poem. Imagist poems are full of imagery. At the beginning of the first stanza, I explain that it is night time in a creative way. I used imagery to show the readers that it is night. I wrote, “Blackness casts shadows over a storm wrecked pier, as night smothers the remains of golden light”. Readers are able to perfectly picture this setting. The imagery used keeps the reader engaged and they are more likely to continue reading. In this opening line, I also used juxtaposition. It is night yet I wrote, “blackness casts shadows”. These two contrasting things, emphasizes the darkness. Shadows in this poem are also metaphorical for sadness. This opening stanza shows the mood for the whole poem. In many of the poems and short stories I have written, the emotion is strong. I like reading work in which the emotion is intense; therefore, I wrote many pieces with strong emotion. Nearly all of my poems had a sad theme to them and included words that were able to evoke some sort of feeling in the readers. While fiction is not real and the characters are made up, the emotion felt is real. When reading a work of fiction, I personally put myself in the story and want to feel the things the characters are feeling. A good story with imagery and emotion is able to do that. This is the same with poems. Many poems can be therapeutic for the reader to read and often they can relate to what a poet is writing about. I used a great amount of emotion in the poem “Too Many”. This poem is about gun violence. I feel as though this topic alone evokes a lot of emotion in me because it is a topic I feel extremely passionate about. I was able to use real events and strong words in order to create a very strong feeling in readers. I was also able to make the poem more personal by asking rhetorical questions. My emotions seep out of this poem and readers are able to understand my perspective. Emotion is important to use because it creates a connection between the writer and the reader. I believe that writing without emotion can be flat and not engaging. Similes, metaphors, and personification can be found in nearly all of my writing. I used these devices in my work because they can emphasize the imagery and emotion used.
2 In my short story, “Without You”, I begin by describing the scene very vividly. I write, “Ice glazed branches dance delicately to the wake-up songs of nature. Sunlight slowly begins to dawn, spreading colors of pink and orange across the sky like a painted canvas”. This opening paragraph grabs the readers interest straight away and perfectly paints a verbal picture. One metaphor in this story that I especially like is, “My mind is a tornado that cannot be ceased”. I believe that this is a strong way of showing exactly what the character is going through and how inescapable it is. There are many subtle metaphors throughout this story which also show how the character is feeling. Metaphors, similes, and personification can help readers better understand something and spark the reader’s imagination which ensures they have an interesting read. While I have many favorites, my favorite piece I wrote would be my collection of Cinquain poems. I enjoyed writing these poems because they are very short and I was able to write many of them. At first, I thought that it would be a struggle to write one due to the line and syllable rules; however, after the first one, the others came to me more naturally. I liked the simplicity of the poems also. Many of the themes were deep, yet the poem itself was simple due to the short length. The work I struggled with the most was the point of view 750-word story. It took a while for me to plan exactly how I was going to change the point of view every 250 words. I was confused as to how this was going to work. Most stories don’t change from 1st to 3rd person. If they do, usually the stories would be longer. I found it difficult to write because of how short the story was. I feel as though the story does not flow well and is a little confusing. Major assignments helped me grow as a writer and as a person. Assignments allowed me to explore my creativity and even find new styles of creativity that I did not know I had. The multitude of assignments gave me a lot of practice, especially during the poetry unit. While writing many poems was hard at times, it strengthened my writing skills and forced me to think outside of the box. Assignments also forced me to be harsh when it came to word count. I have always struggled to keep to a word count. I always go over by a few hundred words but these assignments strengthened my ability to read through my work and cut out nonessential parts. This will help me in future writing assignments. Feedback from peers strengthened my writing skills because I was able to use their criticism to learn new ways. Overall, I gained motivation, determination. Overall, I became more motivated and patient, became more determined, and my writing skills were improved greatly.
Non-fiction: Personal Narrative
3
I stand trembling outside my father's bedroom with a letter in my hands. This letter holds the power of breaking my dad’s heart, but will ultimately change my life. My mother has been living in the USA for several years. I live in England. We are 3,505 miles away from each other, and I cannot live without her any longer. This paper I carry, explains my heartache, and asks for permission to live with my mum. I wander into my dad’s bedroom, rest the letter on his pillow, walk out, and close the door. An hour later, my father arrives home. I hear the turn of the doorknob, followed by the tear of paper. I listen from my room upstairs. My heart pounds and nausea overloads my body, holding me hostage. After years of contemplation, I have finally built up the courage to do the thing which I have feared for years. My mum always said, “do what makes you happy, not what makes other people happy.” I guess I finally listened. I have always been hiding away my own happiness in order to please other people. I know this letter will devastate everyone, so I never wrote it. After what seems like a lifetime of silence, my dad calls my name. With pain in his voice, he tells me that I can go and then storms out of the room. I am left alone, standing in the hallway, breaking down into a puddle of tears. From that moment my relationship with my father changed. He is willing to let me go but is not willing to help make it easier. He will not take me to get my passport. Here I am, on a two-hour train journey to Her Majesty's Passport Office in Peterborough, by myself. Eventually, I arrive at the train station. I have to walk twenty minutes to the office, with the freezing cold wind lashing at my exposed face like a blade. A week later, my passport arrives. I now have everything I need. The month before I leave to start the next chapter of my life is emotionally and physically draining. Chained weights strangle my entire body, pinning me down. I am made to feel guilty for doing something that will make me happy. Some teachers are telling me not to go because it will interfere with my education. I tell them that I have it all planned out. Some of my family are telling me that I am making everyone unhappy. Do they not think I know that? I know I am, but I need to focus on my happiness right now. I am doing this for me. I have spent far too many nights with tears in my eyes. Most people are guilt-tripping and emotionally blackmailing me, trying to make me stay. I hardly have any support. My best friend, cousin, a couple of teachers, and family in America seem to be the only people on my side. In a week, I will be on a plane, flying over the ocean and landing in Philadelphia. I am excited, yet scared. I hold the key to a new life. All I have to do is survive my final week in England and unlock the door. My final week in England consists of panic attacks, stress, and anxiety. Saying goodbye to my teachers, friends, and family is extremely hard. A tsunami of tears drowns me. Every hug I give and every goodbye I hear breaks my heart. Tomorrow my life changes. Car horns scream, adding to the intensity of congested traffic. It is 5:45 on a Wednesday morning, why is it so busy? The sun has yet to rise, but still, I am awake staring lifelessly into red brake lights on a stationary Ford Fiesta. Morning radio hosts drone on about the weather.
4 “It’s going to be a chilly start to the day with rain following in the afternoon. Northeasterly wi—” I am too tired to listen. Ten minutes have passed since the car first stopped, and still no sign of movement. Typical! Why of all days does the traffic have to be bad today? My flight boards in two and a half hours, and we are not even halfway to the airport yet. Winding down my window, a chilling gust of fresh air slaps my face, forcing me to wake. The flashing of a sign shines: LEFT LANE CLOSED ½ MILE. CONSTRUCTION AHEAD. Finally, we have an answer as to why cars turned into snails. I begin to wonder how long it will take to get through this next half mile. Drivers begin to become irate, weaving and cutting in and out of lanes, slamming on their horns. After a long, sluggish journey, the airport appears insight. This is the first time I am going on a plane alone—I usually have my older brothers with me. Although my eldest brother isn’t physically standing by my side at the airport, he is with me. Running late, I have to be escorted across the airport at the speed of light. The drumbeat within my heart pounds, my hands become clammy, my head is spinning. My backpack smacks against my spine with every step I take; that’s going to bruise tomorrow. I arrive at the gate, with barely any minutes to spare. “Can you step to the side please?” A long finger points directly at me. I am going to be late for my flight and have to do an explosives test on my feet. Better safe than sorry. I show the flight attendant my boarding pass and squeeze into a middle aisle seat. After seven hours of random films, dry pretzels, and weirdly salty pasta, I have arrived at Philadelphia International Airport, ready to begin this next chapter of my life. Surviving the attempted intimidation interrogation by customs officials, I made it out. Three weeks later, I’m staring at a minuscule map trying to find my way around this humongous maze of a school. I came from a small school filled with only five hundred students, flew across the Atlantic Ocean, and entered a school with nearly two thousand students. It works in my favor that I have the strength of heart and mind to overcome obstacles and build character. Entering each of my classes, eyes stare at me: some with welcoming smiles, others with a glare. Hundreds of questions bombard me. ‘Where are you from?’ I tell them England. ‘I love your accent, do you know the Queen?’ ‘Does it rain all the time?’ ‘Why did you move?’ ‘Do you like tea and crumpets?’ My first day consists of new faces, many stereotypes, and people asking me to say random words, just so they could hear my accent. I have moved schools in the past, but moving schools at sixteen years old to a different country, which uses a different education system is a new level of difficulty. I begin in the lowest classes with people in the grade below me. I try to figure out this new way of learning, while simultaneously trying to make friends. After a year of perseverance, building up confidence and overcoming struggles. I make it. In the words of the “Phenomenal Woman” Maya Angelou, “We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated.”
Fiction: Without You
5
Fresh wintry morning air burns my cheeks, forcing me to bury my face a little deeper into my hand-knitted scarf. I wander through the woods admiring the perfect beauty that stands before me. Ice glazed branches dance delicately to the wake-up songs of nature. Sunlight slowly begins to dawn, spreading colors of pink and orange across the sky like a painted canvas. Everything around me is so bright, yet my life is still dark. I arrive at my local cafe fifteen minutes before opening time. Just my luck… I stand shivering in the doorway as my whole body numbs. Five minutes later the door opens. Ted, the cafe owner, lets me in. “Morning Ted. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was here so early” I say. “Hey, Charlie. No problem. I saw you standing out there and didn’t want you to freeze. Coffee?” “Please.” I sit down in the same window seat I sit in every day and watch houses light, one by one as people begin to wake. I love Ted’s cafe. I always have. My memories are filled with this place. I would come here with my mother or with friends after school. I met my girlfriend, Hailey, here. She was new to town and it was her first day of working at Ted’s. She was definitely not a natural. She spilled so many coffees, overcooked meals, and shattered a mug, but Ted was not mad. Instead, he was patient and kind, helping her improve. That day I stayed longer than I ever had before. I wanted her to notice me and eventually, she did. When refilling my coffee cup, she looked at me and I looked at her. It was like the whole world stopped. I was lost in her cappuccino colored eyes and she was lost in mine. She was so lost that another coffee was spilled. “I’m so sorry,” she said, over and over and over. “It’s fine” I replied, over and over. The coffee was hot, yet it didn’t hurt because I was focused on her. All I felt was butterflies. She kept apologizing and explained it was her first day. Everyone has a bad first day. It will get better, I told her. When I left, I wrote my number on a napkin and slid it to her on my way out. Our great love story began thereafter. “Here’s your coffee Charlie. How are you coping?” asks Ted. “Thanks, Ted. I’m okay…” I reply, forcing a smile, although my teary eyes expose the real truth. “Is that really the truth?” he asks. “No, but I will. I will be okay” I smile, a little more genuinely. The early hustle of people begins to fill the cafe, each getting their morning coffee before they begin their day. “I’ve got to go make coffees now. Try to have a good day. Things will get better with time. Just hold on.” I grab Ted’s hand.
6 “Thank you for everything Ted. You are like the father I never had. Thank you.” “You don’t need to thank me. I am here for you whenever you need me. See you tomorrow.” “See you tomorrow,” I say, holding back my tears. I grab my coffee to go, wave bye, and leave. The frigid air hits me as I stand for a moment, staring at the cafe I walk back through the woods, clasping my coffee cup, trying to savor the little warmth that’s left. I am happy to be home and out of the arctic wind, but my happiness does not last long. My house is hot yet so numbing. How can an empty house truly be so warming? How can I be happy without the people I love the most? How do I carry on as normal knowing that my mother and girlfriend are dead? How do I live? They were all I had and now I have no one. I am alone in a silent house with chaotic thoughts spirally out of control. My mind is a tornado that cannot be ceased. I grab my car keys, start-up my engine, and drive with no destination in mind. All I know is I need to be free from the grief. My memories race through my mind. I remember every birthday, every Christmas, every date, every vacation. I remember everything. The image of their lifeless bodies flashes before my eyes. It’s all my fault. I tried to save them but I couldn’t. I was too late and it’s all my fault. “Why!? Why!? Why did it have to be them!?” I scream. I keep driving, gradually building up speed while the memories continue to flicker through my mind. I drive faster and faster and the surrounding scenery gets blurrier and blurrier. “Aaaahhh” I cry, tears streaming down my cheeks. My phone rings but I don’t answer. It rings again. I can’t answer. I continue driving. I get a text which my car reads aloud: “New message from Ted. Hi Charlie, I noticed this morning that you were struggling and realized the accident was a year ago. I didn’t want you to be alone, so I took the afternoon off to come and see you, but you aren’t home. Where are you? Don’t do anything stupid! When you get this, come back. The snow is getting worse. Please come back”. I freeze. “What am I doing?” I ask myself. I quickly take my foot off the gas and hit the brakes. The snow on the road causes my car to spin out of control. Taking a deep breath, I manage to steady my car, slowing it down completely. My heart is still racing but I survived. I was so close to ending it all, but I was saved. I turn my car around and drive steadily back into town. All of a sudden, I am blinded by lights. I realize the lights belong to a truck - a truck that was heading straight for me. I try to veer out of the way, but there’s nowhere to go. My tires screech as I continue to try and escape. It’s too late.
Formal Poems Haiku Ice caps are melting leaving polar bears to starve. Earth is on fire. Forests are burning. Massacring animals, polluting the air. The sea is rising. Plastic pollutes the ocean. Turtles beg for help.
Triolet Bodies morph into objects when a guy looks at us from head to toe, whistling with hungry eyes, staring like we’re a new project. Bodies morph into objects when a guy grabs us one night. We bite, kick, but struggle to deflect. We fight, but his hands are tight and he doesn’t listen when we cry “no”. Bodies morph into objects when the guy looks at us from head to toe.
7
8
A Collection of Cinquains
Skeltonic
My Heart. Heavy and full like clouds on rainy days Raindrops fall from my teary eyes. Please stay.
Waterfall tears are flowing I cannot keep on going This pain is ever-growing You left without a goodbye
You are breaking my heart with this deadly silence Silence so cruel and deafening But why?
Hold on Don’t leave so soon Your life is worth living. Please, my darling, please live your life with me.
You told me that we would try. Now I’m left alone to cry You and I were meant to be I feel like I’m lost at sea Why did you decide to flee? Was it you or was it me? Did you ever feel the same?
You say That you want me or is that just a lie? I guess I’m a foolish lover. Am I?
My mind Chaotic, dark Tangled thoughts, so intense I want to run but I’m trapped, so I stay.
“I will try and change” you claim Was I just played like a game? Waterfall tears are flowing I cannot keep on going This pain is ever-growing
9
Free-Verse Poetry Anxiety I am drowning in murky water. Anxiety is holding me down with 100-pound weights, crashing on my chest,
Stormy Love Blackness casts shadows over a storm wrecked pier, as night smothers the remains of golden light.
making it impossible for me to swim. Anxiety is the merciless monster, lurking in the shadows under my bed,
Pinpricks of stars constellate
next to insomnia
like freckles on skin, holding every memory
who forces my eyes to stay open,
no matter good or bad.
leaving me sleepless. I am held hostage inside of my mind, trapped with negative thoughts
Amnesia is impossible
which ramble on and
when your intense midnight eyes
on and on and
tangle within my thoughts.
on and on.
I need the warmth of your
Shape shifting anxiety. Some days you are as small as an Etruscan shrew. The next you are a golden eagle and I am the shrew, running from your pointed beak. This barbarous beast floods my body, sending me to my underwater grave. My legs are trapped, wrapped in padlocked chains. I am paralyzed. I am unable to move, unable to breathe unable to survive.
sun-kissed skin, but nighttime glooms overhead.
You Are an Art Piece Your cappuccino colored eyes stare into mine, making my heart pound. Your dimpled smile is contagious. The way you talk. The way you dance. The way you laugh. Everything you do makes me fall a little deeper. You are a shooting star, lighting up the night with your twinkling shine of radiant beauty. You are an art piece. Aesthetic, unique, and storytelling. I want to spend my life with you. I will love you every day. I will love you for the rest of my life. You feel like home. You are my home. But I guess if I really love you, I should let you go.
Demon Child My meaningful words turn meaningless when the alcohol makes you mean. You listen not to the sound of my voice but instead to the manipulative demons. The demons that hide inside your child, that cried for you to drink her. You believe that she helps you because now you don’t feel, you… you don’t feel anything at all. You don’t feel my love. You don’t feel my warmth. You… you don’t feel anything at all.
11
Flash Fiction
12
Paralyzed I wake up to bright lights and multiple staring heads above me. I look around, but my vision is blurred. My entire body aches. I try to move my legs but I can’t. I feel as though I have bricks cemented over the top of me. I try to move my lifeless legs again. I still can’t move. Why can’t I move? “Why can’t I move? Why can’t I move? WHY CAN’T I MOVE?” I scream, panicking. “Calm down honey. It’s okay.” I am bombarded with worrying thoughts. What if I never walk again? What if I can never play soccer? I can’t lose my legs. I attempt to move, but pain shoots up my legs like lightning. “No, dad. I can’t feel my legs. Why can’t I move?” I shout as tears stream down my face. “You and your brother were in an accident” they tell me. “Your brother he… he didn’t make it” My heart tightens, shattering into a million pieces. The machine beside me beeps out of control. My eyes feel heavy. Everything is being engulfed by blackness. What’s happening? “Please save my daughter. I can’t lose her too!” my dad cries with pain in his voice.
Chaos I am convinced that my eyes have supernatural power. Everything that I look at breaks. The TV blew up last week. A light bulb smashed today. I know what you’re thinking, silly huh? I thought that at first but every time it happens my heart tightens. CRASH! The window beside me shatters. I look down at the floor at the drips of blood. It’s my blood. My nose is bleeding out of control. Do you believe me now?
Original Drafts Anxiety I am drowning in murky water. Anxiety is holding me down, with 100-pound weights crashing on my chest, making it impossible to swim. Anxiety wraps chains around my legs, paralyzing me. I am unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to survive. Anxiety is the unfriendly monster Lurking in the shadows under my bed, Next to insomnia Who forces my sleepless eyes to stay open.
13
Revision
The first draft was only three stanzas long, but I felt as though it was too short for what I was wanting. I added another three stanzas. I believe the length of the poem now portrays how anxiety can last a long time. In one of the added stanzas I wrote, “I am held hostage inside of my mind, trapped with negative thoughts which ramble on and on and on and on”. I like this stanza because it truly shows what anxiety is like. It shows that thoughts take over a person’s mind and they cannot escape. Anxiety does not stop and the repetition of “on and on” feels as though it is not going to stop. “On and on” is a representation of the endless bad thoughts which people face. Within the added stanzas, I included more literary devices to make my writing stronger. I added the simile and metaphor, “Some days you are as small as an Etruscan shrew, the next you are a golden eagle and I am the shrew…”. I believe that these two comparisons are effective to show how some days anxiety is not so bad, but then all of a sudden it is overwhelming. Comparing it to two opposite animals shows the reader the two sides to anxiety. The comparison of anxiety to an eagle reveals what anxiety would be like if it was an actual predator. I also strengthened my work by substituting some words for stronger words. For example, I originally wrote, “unfriendly monster” but I changed it to “Merciless monster”. The word unfriendly does not accurately describe the strength of anxiety, but I believe that the word merciless is more fitting. Adding the word merciless also creates alliteration, which is effective to create a rhythm and mood.
Too Many
14
Too many lives lost every year, And thoughts and prayers are not working. We spend our days living in fear. Is there a shooter who’s lurking? Shots fired in 1999 Leaving everybody speechless. Thirteen lives lost at columbine As families grieve in weakness. 2012 was Sandy Hook December in Connecticut Twenty-Eight lives the shooter took Thoughts and prayers, they wrench at my gut.
Revision I revised and improved this poem firstly by making it longer. I felt as though the original was not long enough. I want the poem to be very impactful due to the seriousness and heart-aching topic. I did not believe that the first draft was long enough to have the effect which I wanted; therefore I added more stanzas. Every other stanza includes specific school shootings in chronological order that have occurred over the years. I thought that it was important to mention the specific and multiple cases to show that this is a problem and something that happens a lot. I believe that including specifics makes the poem more effective and real. It adds emphasis to main message which I am trying to portray: Too many people are dying and gun’s are the problem. In the revision I also repeated the opening line, “Too many lives lost every year”. I added this repetition because I feel as though this is one of the most important lines in the entire poem. It is important to emphasize that there are far too many deaths due to gun violence. In the added stanzas, there are several questions, such as “How many children will be killed? How many will it be today?”. These added questions are important because they also emphasize my message. Questions also make it more personal because I am speaking directly to the reader.
15
Triolet Bodies transform into objects when the guy looks at us from head to toe, He whistles with a hungry face, staring like we’re a new project. Bodies transform into objects when the guy grabs us one night. We bite and we kick but struggle to deflect We fight but his hands are tight and he doesn’t listen when we scream “no”. Bodies transform into objects when the guy looks at us from head to toe.
Revision Others read my poem and offered advice on how to improve it. I used their comment to revise and improve my poem. I changed the wording of a couple of lines. A lot of my comments were to break up the lines as they seem to long. I agree with this, however; I cannot separate them due to the rule of triolet being only eight lines long. Therefore, I removed some words to shorten the lines and substituted some of the words so they had fewer syllables. For example, the original first sentence was, “Bodies transform into objects”. I removed the twosyllable word “transform” and replaced it with the one-syllable word “morph” because it shortens the line a little. I also changed “a hungry face” to “hungry eyes” in order to shorten that line. I also think that it adds a little more strength to the poem because eyes are more specific and meaningful. I believe that you can see evil in a person through their eyes. A lot of the time, actors or actresses will have a certain look in their eyes if they are portraying a character who is a bad person. Eyes can show a lot of emotion.
Personal Narrative
16
I stand trembling outside my father's bedroom with a letter in my hands. This letter holds the power of breaking my dad’s heart, but will ultimately change my life. My mother has been living in the USA for several years. I live in England. We are 3,505 miles away from each other, and I cannot live without her any longer. This paper I carry, explains my heartache, and asks for permission to live with my mum. I walk into my dad’s bedroom, rest the letter on his pillow, walk out and close the door. An hour later, my father arrives home. I hear the turn of the door knob, followed by the tear of paper. I listen from my room upstairs. My heart pounds and nausea overloads my body. After years of contemplation, I have finally built up the courage to do the thing which I have feared for years. My mum always said, “do what makes you happy, not what makes other people happy.” I have always been locking away my own happiness in order to please other people. I know this letter will devastate everyone, so I never wrote it. After a while of silence, my dad calls my name. With pain in his voice, he tells me that I can go and then storms out of the room. I am left alone, standing in the hallway, breaking down. From that moment my relationship with my father changed. He is willing to let me go, but is not willing to help make it easier. He will not take me to get my passport. Here I am, on a 2 hour train journey to Her Majesty's Passport Office in Peterborough, by myself. Eventually, I arrive at the train station. I have to walk twenty minutes to the office, with the freezing cold wind lashing at my exposed face. A week later, my passport arrives. I now have everything I need. The month before I leave, to start the next chapter of my life is emotionally and physically draining. I was made to feel guilty for doing something that will make me happy. Some teachers are telling me not to go because it will interfere with my education. I tell them that I have it all planned out. Some of my family are telling me that I am making everyone unhappy. Do they not think I know that? I know I am, but I need to focus on my happiness right now. I have spent far too many nights with tears in my eyes. Most people are guilt tripping and emotionally blackmailing me, trying to get me to stay. I hardly have any support. My best friend, cousin, a couple of teachers, and family in America seem to be the only people on my side. In a week, I will be on a plane, flying over the ocean and landing in Philadelphia. I am excited, yet scared. I hold the key to a new life. All I have to do is survive my final week in England. My final week in England, consists of panic attacks, stress and sorrow. Saying goodbye to my teachers, friends, and family is extremely hard. A tsunami of tears drown me. Every hug I give and every goodbye I hear, breaks my heart. Tomorrow my life changes. Car horns scream, adding to the intensity of congested traffic. It is 5:45 on a Wednesday morning, why is it so busy? The sun has yet to rise, but still I am awake staring lifelessly into red brake lights. Morning radio hosts drone on about the weather.
“It’s going to be a chilly start to the day with rain following in the afternoon. Northeasterly wi —”
17 I am too tired to listen. Ten minutes have passed since the car first stopped, and still no sign of movement. Typical! Why of all days does the traffic have to be bad today? My flight boards in two and a half hours, and we are not even halfway to the airport yet. Winding down my window, a chilling gust of fresh air slaps my face, forcing me to wake. The flashing of a sign shines: LEFT LANE CLOSED ½ MILE. CONSTRUCTION AHEAD. Finally, we have an answer as to why cars turned into snails. I begin to wonder how long it will take to get through this next half mile. Drivers begin to become irate, weaving and cutting in and out of lanes, slamming on their horns. After a long, sluggish journey, the airport appears in sight. This is the first time I am going on a plane alone—I usually have my older brothers with me. Although my eldest brother isn’t physically standing by my side in the airport, he is with me. Running late, I have to be escorted across the airport at the speed of light. The drumbeat within my heart pounds, my hands become clammy, my head is spinning. My backpack hits my spine with every step I take; that’s going to bruise tomorrow. I arrive at the gate, with barely any minutes to spare. “Can you step to the side please?” A long finger points directly at me. I am going to be late for my flight and and have to do an explosives test on my feet. Better safe than sorry. I show the flight attendant my boarding pass and squeeze into a middle aisle seat. After seven hours of random films, dry pretzels, and weirdly salty pasta, I have arrived in Philadelphia International Airport, ready to begin this next chapter of my life. After surviving the interrogation by customs officials, I made it out. Three weeks later, I’m staring at a minuscule map trying to find my way around this school. I came from a small school filled with only five hundred students, flew across the ocean, and entered a school with nearly two thousand students. It works in my favor that I have the strength of heart and mind to overcome obstacles and build character. Entering each of my classes, eyes stare at me: some with welcoming smiles, others with a glare. Hundreds of questions bombard me. ‘Where are you from?’ I tell them England. ‘I love your accent, do you know the Queen?’ ‘Does it rain all the time?’ ‘Why did you move?’ ‘Do you like tea and crumpets?’ My first day consists of new faces, many stereotypes, and people asking me to say random words, just so they could hear my accent. I have moved schools in the past, but moving schools at sixteen years old to a different country, which uses a different education system is a new level of difficult. I begin in the lowest classes with people in the grade below me. I try to figure out this new way of learning, while simultaneously trying to make friends. After a year of perseverance, building up confidence and overcoming struggles. I make it.
Revision
I removed certain phrases and added different words to make it a stronger piece of writing. In some places, the meaning of my words was hazy and unclear. For example, originally I wrote, “after a while, my dad calls my name…” However, I thought that it didn’t emphasize how I was feeling enough; therefore, I changed that sentence to, “after what seems like a lifetime of silence, my dad calls my name”
18 I believe that readers can more clearly understand just how I was feeling at the time. I also added a couple of literary devices in order to strengthen my narrative and make it more enjoyable to read. I added the sentence, “...nausea overloads my body, holding me hostage”. Personifying nausea makes my emotions, again, more understandable. I also added the simile “...like a blade” to describe the feeling of wind on my face. Using similes sparks readers’ imagination and makes my writing more interesting to read. I also changed the sentence, “my backpack hits my spine” to “my backpack smacks against my spine”. The word backpack and smack, have similar sounding endings. Placing these two words next to each other has a strong effect because it sounds almost lyrical which keeps the reader engaged. In my final version, I added the quote “We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated”. I included this quote by Maya Angelou because of its power. I think that it fits perfectly to my journey. I faced many difficulties, yet I was not defeated. People tried to stop me, but like I say in my final paragraph “I make it”.
Flash Fiction Original: Paralyzed I wake up to bright lights and multiple heads above me staring. My entire body, from my head to my toes aches. I try to move my legs but I can’t. I feel as though I have bricks cemented over the top of me. I try to move my lifeless legs again. I still can’t move. Why can’t I move? “Why can’t I move?”I scream, panicking. “Calm down Honey. It’s okay.” “No, dad. I can’t feel my legs. Why can’t I move?” I shout once again with tears streaming down my face. “You and your brother were in an accident” they tell me. “Your brother he… he didn’t make it” My heart shatters into a million pieces.
Revision
Although flash fiction is supposed to be short, I improved this story by making it slightly longer than it originally was. I believed that my original draft felt a little rushed; therefore I added further description to some parts of the story. For example, in the beginning, I added the line, “I look around, but my vision is blurred”.
19 I added this in order to add a little imagery to the story. It shows exactly what this person is experiencing after being in an accident. The added imagery makes the story more realistic. I also added the repetition of the question, “Why can’t I move?”. Originally it was asked once; however, I feel as though it shows the panic this person is feeling by repeating it. In real life, when a person is panicking they often blurt out things over and over again. This then adds yet again a little more realism to the story. I added another paragraph to the end because I think originally it didn't feel as though it ended. It seemed to abrupt, so I ended on a cliffhanger.