Hi, could you please read my gcse creative writing piece and tell me what you think, I I can improve it in anyway, any advice really or help! it's not finished.
Monday 24th October 1999
I was once a person filled with dreams that I wanted to pursue, a person just like any other, but I believed I was different. As a child, I often wondered what life was about. My Life. On a lonely summer day as I made my way home from a long tiring day of school, I would often go to my private enclosure, the one place I felt a part of. Just me and nature, that’s how I saw it. A beautiful field of natured green, as I described it, I would position my heavy black backpack down onto the muddy grass, watching as a broad glistened smile would spread across my pale face. Sometimes it would turn into laughter, Sometimes cries. Laying on the burgeoning green of the meadow and admiring the gloriously lush may spring. Often running the tip of my fingers along the brim of nature, this was my heaven. At times, my sad thoughts would echo through the distance and my tears would well up in my eyes but I would wipe them back as soon as I glanced around me. Sitting head up in the clouds deep in thought and would gaze at this heavenly view, gowns of greens and reds sparkling, I loved it. Beautiful golden rivers of flowering dandelions, grass as green as the forest sky, my eyes fell deeper. I had never seen something so pure and enchanting; I wondered was this a work of nature? Every now and then my eyes would tower around further, peering through the vast meadow, sighting the acres of great land surrounding me yet I still could not believe the admiration to my eyes. I closed my eyes tight as I pulled myself to my num feet then reopened them with a huge sigh “Perfect” I thought.
I often lied about where I went after school, my mother would anxiously ask me and I would say just to get some fresh air. I thought perhaps if I had told her the truth, she would have laughed. No, not the kind of laugh that made someone happy, but the one that implies pity. Pity! I hated the word, but the meaning more. My mother knew I had no friends, not even one. Why? I was never liked for some cause, no one would ever tell me why. I always blamed mother for the way she raised me, I was never allowed to socialise with anyone not even the very dearest to me, family. It was only me and mother now; my dad had died of cancer two years ago. I wished more then anything he was alive. My memories contained mainly images of my dad, those intense brown eyes, elegant dark hair, the sheer black shirt and suit and his lengthy black coat which he often wore for work. Despite his appearance, he had a heart of gold; he cared for me as I did for him, always. I remember the feeling I got when he walked through the door, seeing his ample arms broadening wider as I paced into him, feeling the warmth of his tender skin on mine, staring deep into my dad’s eyes and telling him how glad I was he’s home. That was dad. Everything had changed since then- more time had passed and mother had forgotten about him.
In a confused part of my mind, I can still recall one of the days which haunted me for years. It had stuck there in the back of my mind almost too long lingering onto each part of my life. Too often I had cleaned, neatened and thought over my thoughts, while my mind was expecting me to relax and eventually find myself tired enough to forget- I still remembered. She always managed to bring me down to a miserable state, mother of course. Whenever I talked to her I would stutter my words, my lips would slowly shudder and I would stumble on any excuse to stop talking, I was petrified. The awkward stare she would give me sometimes would harvest goose bumps on my skin, then not a word after. It all started when I was a child at the age of nine on one evening.
It was a chilly blistering night, I was on my way back from visiting my dad’s gravestone, I left him a beautiful bunch of delicate red rose’s with a special message from me. I always visited my dad everyday, and every time I came I brung him something new whether it was roses or a card. I raised a slight smile as I thought of how happy dad was that I kept him company today. By now, I could feel my hands loose their warmth as the cold howled through my body, rain tumbled down from the night sky and rested onto the hood of my coat. I had never seen a night as cold as this. The wind was thrashing at me viciously; I barely could keep myself upright. My heart began to pump increasingly faster as I past through the beastly hill nearing my house. Mother. I had just remembered mother had told me to arrive home early that day, but it was far from early now. I glared at my watch realising how late I was, Mother was expecting me hours ago. My fears started to unleash and I could feel my stomach turn as my face glowed blushed cherry red. I began to sprint, this would be the largest hill I would ever have to venture down, but I had to do it.
I had arrived home that day soaking wet and drenched with rain on my blue coat. I tried to remain calm and not think about mother for a moment, but she was all that was on my mind. I placed my drenched coat onto the hooker in the hallway and made my way up the wooden steps, past my room, and up to mother’s room. I did not dare go in; instead I just listened by the door hoping to hear the sound of silence, hoping that mother was not home, hoping something unfortunate had happened, hoping. I snapped out of my dream world and thought back to reality; mother was home, no doubt about it. There I pictured mother’s face as if it were a clown, ghost white with funny tuffs of red hair on either side of her bald head with a big clown smile painted over her mouth. You know, those disturbing circus clown’s that scared the daylights out of small children, kind of like that. My mind created her as something far worse then what she was. I pressed my ear as hard as I could against the wooden door trying my best to listen but far from a coincidence her voice dimmed lower and lower as if she knew I was listening. Mother liked talking to herself, I was her favourite subject. Now I was sure I heard mother laughing, it was almost like a witches’ cackle to my ear. It was an evil kind of cackle that you would imagine to scare you, not that sweet innocent laugh I once saw in my mother. It was at that moment, I suddenly stopped and started to really think, all these sudden rushes of emotions passed over me. What if she sees me? What will I do?
I whirled around, pressed my back and splayed hands against the door feeling my sweat, oily and hot running down my forehead. I began to grow afraid, picturing what mother had planned for me in my mind. My perfect escape route was to plunge through the window and run like never before, why I did not do that, I will never know. I could feel my stomach getting hot and runny and jitters of anxiety began to make my limbs go weak. Mother’s voice had gotten louder yet, drifting and echoing through the spiralled hallway, more laughter. I rubbed my eyes trying to brush off the specs of dust that flew from the ceiling, coughing and wheezing. Oh, no. I was sure mother had heard. Of course- mother had heard. By then, mother’s tone of voice changed, it sometimes merging together in a soft babble that was barely understandable sometimes as clear as they could be. All I knew at the time mother kept mentioning my name.
By then, I could feel my head spin into a craze, which did not stop me yet though. Maybe if I talked to mother she wouldn’t do it, I could at least try this time that’s what I thought. If I explained myself, mother would not have a reason. I felt for the doorknob groping it into my cold hand ready to plunge through any minute now, then I let go. The door stayed locked, but I could hear movements stirring inside the room, the clashing of objects began to sound to my ears and I could hear slow footstep’s circling around the room. It was time. I looked up to the ceiling bowed my hands in prayer and hoped for god to protect me, “oh god, please spare me this one time” I pleaded over and over. I hoped for an answer that night, but no luck.
I had been stood as still as a mouse for the past twenty minutes. I could see my heavy breathing tainting the air filling it like foam almost like a cloud. I burrowed my head into my lap sliding my arched back against the peak of the door onto the floor. Oooouch” I yelped, at that very moment the door flung open and had stricken my rear harder then a rock. I hunched my back forward trying to sit myself upright so I could look back, but it was no use I was helplessly in agony. I could hear growing footsteps merging around me now, it was mother, I knew. The friction between the shoes and the floorboard sounded a slight creaking noise which seemed to grow closer and closer. I arched my back again, this time using all my strength to correct my posture, no luck. “Mmm-mother”? I stuttered on, my body hunched on the ground. My back snapped straight as I picked myself up stood straight leaning towards the wall on one side. I looked fearfully over my shoulder- peering past the dusty old bookshelf, past the
I liked it...speel chkc in order...keep to detail but dont over dew it. Simplify and contract. Good Luck in your writting journey.
ok I know that a year has passed since you posted this but still I cant help but comment.
I absolutely love how you describe things! :)
I think its amazing! I would be proud of this! I know its a bit late, but I just wanted to tell you that this is fantastic! Hope you got a good grade! :) x
i like how you describe things as well but its like all i see is I,I,I,I,I,I,I,I,I,I,I,I,I this and I that...