Russian Federation

I'm 17... I remember writing poems at 6, so I guess I've been in this for a while...
I write poems, prose and literally anything there is to write. Dark, lyrical, comedy, kids... name it.
I'd appreciate comments/critique soooo much!

Message to Readers

A passage I wrote for an English creative writing HW, exploring the 5 senses in a mystery short story.

Unfamiliar path

May 20, 2017

I was making my way down the treading path in the forest, as I did every Sunday, right after dinner. I knew each tree, each branch and each rock like the back of my hand… The familiar whistle of the wind among the rows of trees I all but named by now, was like the voice of an old friend, one to whom I no longer wanted to talk. The low, overhanging branches I once loved to jump and reach, were but a nuisance I brushed away now, as I retraced the tracks I’d made last Sunday… The evening blurred into the monotonous routine of Sundays past, until I noticed a forking in the path - a track I’ve never made, nor seen… nor explored.

After a moment of thought, I stepped off my trail, as if striding onto a foreign land, ready to take in the novelty of the unseen. I must have walked for an hour, noting each new branch, each new sound of each new bird, and each large root, as if digging out of its heavy grave. It was already darkening, when I realised my mother would be worried for me, all alone in the forest at such a time, but just before I was to turn back, I spotted a flicker in the distance.

Like a fly to the light, I neared the house, summoning me, as the forest around me grew gloomier, and the excitement I felt for each unfamiliar tree withered into fear… The shining window in the house no longer seemed welcoming, but threatening, like an omen… And as the howl of this wind grew more fearsome, I missed the quiet whistle of my old friend, one I no longer heard in this damned place.

Suddenly, a branch cracked behind me with a noise louder and more petrifying than the howling, and the rustling of the restless trees. I spun in terror, my heart stopping, and a cold breath sinking into my lungs. A man towered over me, and seemed taller, darker and more crooked than the trees around him. Now I sit in the light of the flickering window. Oh how I miss the familiar trail.


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  • May 20, 2017 - 6:28am (Now Viewing)

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