Creative Writing:

Creative Writing start:

It was a raw frosted winter night, cold, dark and wet up by the small housing estate of meadow stone. No cars on the near by highway, a still, restraining place. The tall lifeless trees caved around the building, like the way his body lay on the dusty timbered floors inside.

Listen, countless Gusty drafts whistled through the smashed windows ricocheting back like a boomerang. Crunching steps were faintly heard making their way toward the rotting, aged building, and the several juvenile children. Crying magpies crowd from their perched crest, this was throughout the gloomy night that created a paranoid atmosphere over the shadowed frosty paddock.

Early morning. 5:00am, checking at their radiant phones, glancing behind them as the snowy tips of the mountain were suddenly filled with a fiery red conceal. No unnatural lights were on, and a murky low fog slowly inched its way beneath their feet, spreading like a blanket around the edges of the building. Blood was as fast and as wet as a river. Running out of his body and through the holes in the floor, seeping onto the ground outside, aside the youth association. The glowing reflection allowed them to witness the laying lifeless soul.

Smell, Awful faint stenches began to fill the nostrils of the party with his dying oder, consciously comprehending the fact that they were fixed only five metres away from the bitter, hurt, pierced body. It was laying beside the rusted carving knife found inside the draws of the situated building. That fresh aroma loaded into their senses like it was another ordinary winters morning, comparable to arising on a commonly known “day up the mountain.” Almost collapsing against the aged walls of the chaffed house, demanding for just one breath of air. All gaining their balance. They watched mutely as flashes of white shone on the black, thin puffer jackets of the familiar, mischievous association. Freezing in place. They felt as if their insides were being everted, moving around and around like washing machines. Expressions move on their cold hearted faces as they howled like wolfs to a rising frost bitten morning. That area presented itself like it had stood still, inhaling in the aged scent. Crimson blood had alternated to maroon stains, so obvious, so clear, thirsty to the eyes of those juvenile fixed in place. Beside his carcass.

Eventually, you will approach the rough looking party. The damaged house, with a nervous look in your eyes.Your closed Nike sneakers will touch the frozen raw paddock and the only noise you will hear will be a constant thumping of your own heartbeat. Adrenaline hits. Vulnerable teens band around your defenceless body. Lurking over in- the dawn, twilight, shadowing over the frosty paddock. It was your turn to now witness the unthinkable. You were put into the same shoes as those broken children. The children who were trying to run from all that they have ever feared and lost. Causing themselves more dilemmas by attempting to feel better. You scan the lifeless body. The Dark turned blood stains, And the expressions on each individual. This was never a situation you wanted to be placed into, no choice but to run through the paddocks on that winters morning. Away from the dead body. Away from Those broken children and their horrifying antics. Heartbeat as fast as the speed of light. Streaked light followed your footsteps surrounded by bleached jack frosted grass, and an abandoned house carrying the soul of a lonely, dead boy. Your breath echoed into the next misty morning, you sat. Wet, panicked, deserted, In the grass roots awaiting continued on from that horrifying area with. A witnessed murder scene.