December 2010
3 posts
thisorientt-deactivated20110814 asked: aup
miscellaneouswords-deactivated2 asked: Your such a beautiful writer, do you find it easy to get inspired? x
Only For The Music.
This is a personal piece that I wrote, hoping that it could’ve been used for my second year portfolio but its too long and even though I’ve cut parts I personally don’t want to cut any more. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating this story and character.
1:
The night burned cold across the metropolis of Bridgecroft, wind rattled the window panes of towering...
November 2010
5 posts
Beauty.
I wrote the end of this piece first then added the whole entering the house bit to give a bit of back story. This won’t make the cut in terms of handing in for marking, but I did enjoy writing this a-lot.
I feel the worn wooden grain on my hand as I push against the front door, the handle clicking into place. The house is still warm, cooling fast. Where is she? Out? Don’t be stupid she’s...
Winterstreet
I Wrote this piece whilst sat in the centre of Derby during the “Big Freeze” last year, although it didn’t make it into my portfolio its a beautiful memory for me.
There was something unsettling about the street I was walking down, having just been inside a warm and busy shopping centre for hours the street was a contrast to all the senses, a tender mist split into existence...
Table of Dreams:Pain
Another piece from my first year portfolio.
A crash breaks through the space surrounding me, the echoes bitterly bringing a sense of tension that ripples into a gentle fear.
I am lying on the floor, my head tilted at such an angle, my body is tensing to keep my neck and head at such an obscure pose. I can see nothing but my own body; twitching horridly, stranded beneath loose clothing. The space...
Some Suicides are Never Reported
This was my extended piece for my first year of Creative Writing at Derby Uni.
24/06/2011 9:00 Morning
The waves of sunlight crash into my eyes. My pupils retreat in pain, scurrying away into the infinite darkness of themselves.
“Shit, it’s too fucking bright,” I mutter to myself before reaching and pulling down on the cord, loosely suspended from the ceiling. The shutters slam down...
Excess
This is the first piece I ever wrote whilst at Uni, its definitely the start of my current writing style.
I am a fucking machine. But my body is a temple of decomposing decay. The gears of my system run fluid with the excrement and pulsating ooze of hate which spills over my entirety, liquidating every surface of my factorial being, causing it to rush, crush and consume any sustainable substance...
