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Four Creative Writing Assignments

Last block, I took a course creative writing and as I received my final graded for all my assignments and portfolio a couple weeks back, I decided to post the first four graded assignments here. Each one was to focus on a different aspect of writing, that being POV, character, setting and plot. Initially, I was going to turn the last assignment into a short story for my portfolio, but halfway writing I realised I could never get the required word count, as it wasn’t that long a story. So I ended up writing something entirely different for that, though I’m not sure yet if I’ll post it

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

The auditorium was still filling up, and before long I’d have to be on stage. Somewhere in the dark behind me, I could hear Romeo whispering his first lines with strained voice. My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, even the people in the backrow would be able to see the sweat stains under my arms the moment I got on stage.

When I entered the auditorium I feared there wouldn’t be any seats left, but eventually I spotted one near the side. As the lights dimmed and the curtains went up, an elaborate set was revealed. The crew must have worked for months to put it all together.

The audience quietened as the stage lit up. Romeo’s face was ashen and his hands were shaking. I was wondering whether I should run to get a bucket. I really hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, cause no mints could mask that kind of foul breath. And I was the unlucky girl who had to kiss him.

“Not mad, but bound more than a madman is-” The actor playing Romeo was really talented. He was visibly lovesick, his face pale and at times he seemed to tremble, barely containing the heartbreak caused by his dear Rosaline.

Digging my hands into the fabric of my skirt, I went on stage. Kick, walk, kick, walk, and dear God please don’t let me stumble. There was a tear on the inside of the gown that my foot would sometimes get stuck in. During the dress rehearsal I’d fallen flat on my face twice. “How now, who calls?” “Your mother.” I had to supress the urge not to make a ‘Yo Momma’ joke. Don’t. Not appropriate. Not in the original play. Though I’d like to think Shakespeare would have appreciated it.

The girl playing Juliet looked stunning. With dark curls and a light blue dress, she was like a nymph. She almost floated over the stage, the picture of elegance itself. They couldn’t have found anyone more suitable to play the part.

“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun…” I missed most of Romeo’s monologue trying to keep my balance on the narrow balcony. It wasn’t visible from the audience, but it was about the size of an iPhone. Oh shit, why was he quiet? Had I missed my que? No… he’d forgotten his lines again. For fuck sake, if he would just remember for once. Well, there was only one solution… “Ay me!”

Juliet awoke next to her Romeo and I could already feel the tears welling up. As Juliet discovered the death of her lover, I grabbed for a tissue. “O happy dagger, this is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.” She plunged the dagger in her chest and collapsed.

“For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” At last, the End. When I’d stabbed myself, I fell in an uncomfortable position and my leg was starting to cramp. The moment the curtains fell, I rolled off the platform, hobbling over to take my place between my fellow actors. As the curtain rose, we were met with a standing ovation.

It had definitely been worth it.

Do you Know What I’m Seeing?

“Oh. My. God. Look at her!” “To be honest, I’m not sure if anyone her size should be wearing something like that…” “You’d think she’d at least be modest enough to cover up a little.” The young woman entering the outdoor swimming pool is just wearing a two-piece. A very nice red two-piece with little white polka dots. I wouldn’t dare wear something like that. But the group of soccer moms on the other side of the pool seem to find fault with pretty much every aspect of the chubby woman’s appearance. They must be looking at someone entirely different, as the woman I see has clear skin and long, dark curls. And the poised way she carries herself reminds me of the girls in my advanced ballet class. “Mind if I sit here?” I nearly drop my magazine. “S-sure, go ahead!” She settles down next to me, spreading out a large blue beach towel. From a canvas bag with a sunflower print she takes a pair of sunglasses and a paperback. I try to return to my magazine, but I can’t help but glance at her every once in a while. “Doesn’t it bother you? The way they talk about you, I mean.” “What? Oh. No, not in the slightest.” She looks me straight in the eyes as she says this. “It used to, when I was younger you know, still in high school. But nowadays it really doesn’t bother me anymore.” “That’s great. I’m glad.” She returns her attention to the book she’s reading, but I can’t quite manage to read the cover the way she’s holding it. She must have noticed me staring, as she holds up the book for me to read. The title, The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four and Five, takes up most of the deep blue cover. “It’s by Doris Lessing. I found a whole bunch of her books in a used bookstore.” Her fingers brush the spine. “I hadn’t expected I’d enjoy her writing this much, but… it really speaks to me. It’s exactly the kind of sci-fi I like, people learn to connect with each other.” I just nod. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea who this writer is, nor do I know anything about sci-fi. But the way she talks about the book feels so honest and passionate, I dare not to give any discouraging reaction. She’s staring past her toes now. The water’s edge glimmers in front of us. “Hey… Do you know what I’m seeing? When I see my reflection?” I’m surprised by her forwardness. “I see someone who’s doing what she loves, someone who isn’t scared to be herself. And someone who’s happy with the way she looks. It took me a long time to see my reflection this way.” Though I don’t dare say it out loud, I envy her confidence.

She’s A Handsome Woman

Early on the morning of June 26th it was already warm enough to venture outside without a light jacket. At exactly a quarter past eight, Mrs. Lennox left her home on Brook Street, London and made the fifteen-minute walk to Hyde Park. Wednesday was her usual day off and she’d sought for satisfactory way of spending it. Eventually, she’d decided on visiting the park, reading amongst its wealth of flowers under a clear blue sky. She’d recently received an e-reader as a gift from her oldest son, Matthew, and surprised and delighted her children by how quickly she’d figured out how it worked. It was not yet busy, and as she made her way down the narrowing paths of the park, she only encountered a few joggers, to whom she gave a curt nod as they made their rounds. Eventually, she found a shaded bench across a recently mowed lawn. The scent of sweet-smelling roses mingled with the sharper one of catmint and the vanilla of the chocolate cosmos in their separate flowerbeds. Squirrels were playing tag in the row of high chestnut trees behind her. Somewhere in the distance a magpie was making a ruckus, its insistent cawing reverberating in the quiet park. A dog whizzed past, trailing its leash. Its owner was right behind, huffing as he tried to catch up. He finally managed to when the excited Border Collie puppy decided to uproot a flowerbed. “Felix, bad dog!” Mrs. Lennox raised an eyebrow at the canine’s antics as its exasperated owner tried to restrain it. She concentrated once more on her reading.

She’d been reading on her bench for several hours and the shade had made room for direct sunlight. A small bead of sweat rolled down her forehead but she was determined to finish the chapter. After that she’d consider if she’d be going over to the Serpentine to enjoy her lunch by the water, where it would undoubtedly be cooler. That was the moment her phone buzzed. She hesitated, hand floating above her purse. It was her day off after all. But the buzzing was insistent and she finally grabbed it. The screen told her it was Katie, her youngest daughter. Katie should have been attending her university courses at this time of day. Several missed calls by an unknown number were displayed below. Her finger slid over the screen, accepting the phone call. “Hello, dear. Did you miss your mother?” “Mom, I – did they?” “What’s wrong dear? Please, full sentences and proper syntax.” “Mom, it’s Matthew. They just called and-” A sob prevented her from continuing, Mrs. Lennox’ went cold and clammy. “What is it dear? What’s happened to Mathew?” “T-they tried to c-call you, but they couldn’t reach you and-” The sobbing on the other side was getting louder. Mrs. Lennox could feel the colour draining from her face. A mother with her two young daughters walked past, babbling, but their sounds seemed dull, removed, as if she was under water. “Katie, please compose yourself. Explain, please!” Mrs. Lennox waited as her daughter regulated her breathing. “They j-just called and said Matthew has been in an accident.”

Memories

On the third day of torrential downpours, I couldn’t take it any longer. Armed with a big red umbrella and a copy of Ian McEwan’s Atonement, I left my apartment. I’d take a little stroll, find a nice café, order a coffee, and sit down for a couple of hours of reading.

As I made my way down the street, I passed an elderly lady, struggling with two bags full of groceries and a set of keys. “Shall I take those from you for a moment?” The lady nodded, handing me a bag. She opened the door and shuffled over the threshold. “Thank you so much for your help, dear. You remind me a lot of my late husband, always the gentleman.” “It’s no bother at all!” I said, handing her the bag.

I knew of a nice café that would most likely be quiet at this hour. But to get there I had to cross the park first. An older couple walked past me, the man carrying a deep red umbrella, the woman on his arm talking animatedly about what their daughter had told her that morning on the phone.

As I passed the playground in the middle of the park, a little girl raced towards and climbed the monkey bars. Her dad came right after, a little out of breath. “Amy, get off that! It’s all wet and you’ll get dirty!” The girl laughed, letting go of the bars and instead running for the slide. Her father managed to catch her just before the steps. “We’re on a mission, remember? Mommy’s birthday is in a week and we need a gift.” The girl pulled a serious face. “I think we should get her chocolates. She likes chocolates!”

As I’d guessed, the café was quiet. Only a pregnant young woman, sitting with a cup of tea and a book in the back. I ordered a coffee and took a seat at the window. Soon, I was engrossed in my book.

As I went to pay for my drinks, a young couple entered, bringing in with them a blast of cold wind. The rain had clearly eased, but apparently the wind had picked up. As they got in line behind me, I overheard a little of their conversation. “I’d actually spent my afternoon reading here the day I met you.” “Wasn’t it Atonement you’d been reading? I can’t believe it’s been six months!” As I left the café I had to admit I was puzzled. Weird day, full of unconventional meetings. But that was all it was, wasn’t it?

I was so deeply in thought I didn’t notice the girl with the frizzy brown hair in the yellow swing jacket until it was too late to avoid a collision. My umbrella and book, and her groceries, oranges, bread, a container of milk, chocolate, all over the pavement. I helped her gather up her stuff, introducing myself afterwards. I offered to walk her home, which she graciously accepted.

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