Hysteria - creative writing

The screeching brakes ringing in my ears. A wash of cold came over my body instantly. The once speeding care came to a sudden halt. My head was thrown forward into the dashboard, splitting my forehead. The airbags, for some reason, did not expand.

The crunch of the front of the car caving inwards, kept replaying its self in my ears. I opened my eyes, seeing non other than car pieces blood and teeth. I examined the driver. She seemed senseless, kind of limp. Then it struck me. Dead. Shaking her didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

Choking on blood, I shoved with all the strength I had left, against the door. It sort of skidded across the road, making an irritating scratching noise. My head throbbed harder.

The sun was reflecting off the shattered wind screens of about 7 cars. You could only make out three of them, as the other four were in a mangled heap fifty metres away. The tire marks on the road were coming from the opposite direction. A few swerved to the middle of the road, and some towards the cliff. The nearest heap of car was imbedded in the guard rail, and the number plate was crumpled a few feet away from me. I staggered over, and picked it up. I squinted, and held my hand up to block the strong rays of sun.
“Z-H-7-3-1-4”, I read aloud.
A light suddenly flickered on in my brain. My mother’s car. Yes, I remember. She was following us. That wash of cold came over me again.

Pulling as much of the rubber, metal and fabric away so that I could see inside the car. My breathing getting faster, I pulled away the broken seat, seeing my mother strewn, and at funny angles through the car. I now felt light headed, well more than before. Seeing my mother’s face wasn’t pretty. She had hardly any teeth, blood stained blouse, and open grey eyes. I could still feel her body heat, she had to be alive.
I lifted her out with great difficulty, laying her carefully on the road. She was limp. I felt sick with fear. The pit of my stomach ice-cold. Head throbbing. Spitting, and swallowing lage amounts of blood, I put my head close to her nose. I couldn’t hear her breath. I fumbled with her wrist, my hands shaking, trying to find her pulse. There was none. Putting my palm on the back of my other hand, and placing it on my mother’s heart, I attempted to start C.P.R.
“COME ON!”, I screamed.
“COME ON!”, pushing down harder, I felt one of her ribs break under the pressure.
I sank down on to my knees crying and screaming hysterically. She was gone.

Running on Water - creative writing

I was just standing there casually, leaning on my spade, staring at the setting sky, in the middle of the field. The field, where I work, was not 200 metres from town. Very fortunate I was, to not have the day off. The sun was still hot, and the fresh breeze blew the grass in one direction. The cows seemed to be settling down for the night, some with black spots and some completely brown, sitting or standing in the field. At least I thought they looked tired. The peaceful feel of the field seemed to work the opposite of calming, to one particular cow. It started leaping around in an “I’ve just been electrocuted” kind of way. I went over to see what the matter with it was. Just as I was three feet away, I stood in a pothole with great force, and smacked my face straight into the back of the cow. It didn’t seem too happy with that event. I stood up slowly, not wanting to look in the cow’s eyes. The fear starting to rise in my veins………

Paragraph About a Friend - creative writing

Getting to know her is easy, for she welcomes everyone. Being one of her best friends is another thing: she listens well when spoken to, and remembers every detail that you said. She could tell you anything about everything. Her brain is amazing. Being on time is another of her qualities, and being busy all the time is one too.
You hardly ever see her, though you can see her easily. Now you see her, now you don’t. She can make the strangest sounding French accent, which helps in French.
She’s there when you need her, and still around when you don’t.
“Positive thinking” she’ll tell you before a test.
She enjoys sports a lot, and is very good at them too. Living life to the full is how I would sum her up, in all her smartness, and memory of very small details, she is the happiest and most interesting person I know.

Neither Triumph Nor Success - Short Story

The gaping mouths of the onlookers below told me that I was doing what I should. The crisp wind brushed my face and lifted my arms into the air. I executed the pose perfectly and with ease. This I knew by the change of expression and applause from the crowd.

The bikes hard rubber handles firmly in my grip told me that I was ready to land. I stood on the pedals and did not sit on the seat, as that could result in injury. The bike hit the ground hard, and bounced off. I swung the bike sideways and skidded to a halt at the bottom of the hill. The road was rough, and you could see the shimmer a couple of inches off the top of the hill, where the heat was rising.

The crowd applauded once more, I could see arms waving in the air of people I never knew.

The feeling wasn’t of triumph, or success, it was of a simple wash of warmth. It was just then that I felt my stomach drop, like a stone being thrown into a stream and it sinking down into the depths. A silhouette of a person walking towards me, my father, an important looking sturdy man. The expression on his face let me know straight away that he was on the border of clouting me. I wasn’t supposed to be here………