Another Writing Sample from Creative Writing.

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The Ghost of the Past Lives Here

The opaque darkness is always present and bone-chilling in this place that no one can seem to make heads or tails of. Many have tried but try as they might, all they have is a best guess for what is going on here. My doctor will admit that fact does not prevail and truth is open for interpretation. I close my eyes and see a helpless blackness until a vivid memory begins to play over and over like a movie. Sometimes the movie I watch is pleasant, reminding me of favorable times that bring a smile to my face or a happy tear to my eye. Other times the movie is haunting and even if I open my eyes in terror, the movie plays on. That is when I realize that no matter how far I have come, the ghost of the past lives here.
The thumping sound of rhythmic beating like the eternal ticking of a clock is reliable; it has never ceased thus far. The warm blood flows. Thick. I have a choice. I can feel light or I can feel heavy. When I feel light, I am surrounded by sun rays and daisies. When I feel heavy, though, I am surrounded by water, and I am drowning. I fight and fight to reach air and breathe but I can not. The darkness becomes eternal as suddenly I find my self locked in a cold cell. Have I died? How can I explain being surrounded by water in one moment and in another being locked in a jail? I can't, but nonetheless, here I am. The bars are made of cold, sharp steel that cuts into my hands making them bleed the reddest version of my blood that I have ever seen. Those bars are so strong that I can not escape them. I am trapped in the helpless with nothing but my thoughts. That is when I realize, no matter where I am, the thoughts will follow. The ghost of the past lives here.
Her office is inviting with her Remembrant paintings hung high with pride. Knowledge is overtly displayed with every leather-bound book penned by a Ph.D that is showcased in the mahognany bookcase. I sit comfortably in my chair with anxious feelings about what we will speak of today. My mind is rushing. Do I tell her? What will she say? What will she think? Why, God, am I sitting here? I have to escape but I can't. This is not a new situation, however. I have seen her before. Why would today's session be any different than last week's or the week before. It isn't. Anxiously I stand to my feet and reach for the door. Doctors have always made me nervous, and she is no different from those that came before her. But before I reach for the cold steel of the doorknob, trepidaously as if one grab will open the bleeding wounds on my imagined palms, she enters. After a moment, she tells me that our time is finished. She has done all that she can for me. It is now time for me to go into the world and live my life. Today. Not the life of yesteryear. How can I though, when in my mind and in my heart, the ghost of the past lives here?
"Dear child, the ghosts will always live here. They will never go away. Still, you have the strength to live at peace with your ghosts, as we all do. Go child, and prosper." she said to me.
She turned and walked out of her colorful office with her expensive paintings and books that mock me. I didn't know if I believed her, but I had to try. That's when I realized, no matter who we are, the ghost of the past lives here.

My First Writng Sample for my Creative Writing Class

I hope you guys enjoy it. Leave some comments!

The Woman in Me

When they say piles of poop stand taller than her, they were not lying. She is five feet even and although she is a squirt of a woman, I look up to her, both physically and figuratively. I’ve seen her physical appearance change through the years as I have changed with time. Her extremely fine dirty blond hair has been at times long, short, straight, and curly. It has been all shades of blond, brown, and red. The color did not matter to me. My favorite style was long and straight which made her rosy cheeks and golden green eyes sparkle; reminiscent of the days of her youth, before life and its challenges jaded her perception which took the sparkle away. Today, her hair is short and red. I believe hair is like a favorite pair of shoes that are worn until one day a new shiny pair commands attention. I am not fond of the “shoes” she chooses to wear these days. Time has been kind to her face as the wisdom of her years is not immediately reflected in the creases of her skin. When I look at her, I hope that life will bestow its kindness upon me, that I may retain my youthful look so that one might have to gaze deep into my eyes to see the wisdom of my years as I have to do to her. The most interesting physical feature she possesses is her hands. I’ve seen these hands before. They are the hands of my great grandmother, my grandmother, and my self. They are small yet strong. They are capable of so much and nothing at all. At times, they have held the world in their pale, creased palms.

Aside from her physical appearance, she has a “jene se qua.” Her presence commands attention when she enters a room. As a child I found an annoyance with her boisterous personality and inability to shut up. I thought of her as a typical New Yorker: loud, outspoken, and un-educated. As an adult, her sweet voice of concern still grates on my last nerve at times, but is, nonetheless, welcomed in my life. When I look in the mirror, I see her five-foot glory condensed into my four foot, ten inch body. She passed down to me not only her genetic trait of midget-ness but everything I ran away from as a kid. She has become and always was the woman in me. I began to appreciate her experiences of growing up in the poverty-stricken streets of Brooklyn which inspired an attitude of confidence that seems to transcend the expectation of anyone who meets her. I began to see how she stands as tall as she can and does not allow anyone to stand in her way. I understand why she fights vigorously for what she believes in. I felt compassion when she fell down teaching me to see her as the most imperfect person I know. Her loud voice, the one I hear in my deepest thoughts rings endlessly in my ears, reminding me of her faults which then helps me avoid mistakes of my own. She started out weak but over time has gained the inner strength that can not be knocked down. All of her achievements, the smell of sweet success, and all of her mistakes made her who she is today. She is a woman. She is a friend. She is my mother.

Back to School

So my week break is offically up. I was very sick at the beginning of it but now all is well - health wise atleast! School starts tomorrow - Summer Quarter - Then right after that - PLU here I come. Nothing is really new. Rob is coming for the summer. Not really sure how thats going to work out or even how I want it too. The war does change people, sadly, and absence does not always make the heart grow fonder. Sadly. Whatever happens, I am sure I will come out of it stronger and with a better sense of self. I have tremendous goals I am working toward so that is exciting. And....I have offically chosen the grad school I am dying to go to...NYU! Ofcourse I will apply to many many different schools but that is the gem in the crown of the school I want to finish my studies at. OK...Happy Summer everyone!

Busy Girl

So I have been completely busy with finishing this quarter and Rob coming back home. Things have been insane!

I am just about done with school. I have two more finals to take then 10 days of bliss. Holly is one week from completely the first grade...where does the time go? Rob is back in LA but coming back up for the summer as soon as he takes care of personal life business that has been ongoing for the past few years. As for me, after my 10 day vacation, back to school for the summer. I am taking History, Psych, and Creative Writing. Then in fall.....PLU!!!!!

I couldn't be happier about finally going to University. Once PLU is finished...hopefully I will be accepted to the graduate program at New York Univeristy.

Well, that is all. I have a new cell number...you all should have gotten a text with it. If not, email me and lets hang out!