Creative Writing Journals

Facade I love him. I love everything about him, and I know he loves me. After putting my friendships aside for him, that’s when I realized how much I need him. He told me that I couldn’t spend more time with them than I spent with him, so I had to let it go. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because I love him. When our arguments started, it hurt me more than anything in the world. I couldn’t, and still don’t, understand why he got upset at me over the smallest things. Once, he got mad at me for taking too long to respond to his texts. It had only been an hour. And sometimes, he wouldn’t respond to me for the whole day. Those days that he got mad at me are the worst. I end up sitting in the bathroom and crying nonstop. At one point, it got so bad that I considered breaking up with him, but I can’t do that; I love him. And besides, he told me that he’d kill himself if I left him. Specimen There she was again. Beatrice Fulvia. The girl who always sat at the lunch table but barely spoke to anyon...

Visitation *Adding on to my story for the Journey prompt. Cornelia was getting ready to toss the rest of the baked food from earlier in the day outside, when she noticed Bella standing a few feet away from her. They stood like that for a while, neither one saying anything. Cornelia didn’t understand, why could she not just leave and go wherever she needed to for the night? Then she understood: Bella was probably hungry. Had she been fed that day? Cornelia was not sure. Bella had not asked for any food. “You want some?” Cornelia held the tray of different breads and cookies out to Bella. She hesitated, but reached out to grab a small piece of bread. She took a small bite, then another, and then stuffed the entire thing in her mouth and grabbed another piece. Cornelia waited until Bella had finished off all the food on the tray, and then asked, “Want to come inside?” Bella shook her head. “No, please,” Cornelia insisted, “you’re welcome inside. Just don’t let my mother catch you.” Cornel...

Iceberg Why couldn’t Steve ever do his own laundry? Beth stared at the mess of clothes on the bedroom floor. She had left them there in hopes that he would pick them up himself, but he didn’t. He never did. Beth grabbed an empty laundry basket, and instead of picking up the mess, this time she walked to the living room, where Steve sat on the sofa watching TV, and dropped it in front of him. “Pick it up,” she said. “What?” He asked. “Your clothes. Pick them up.” “It’s your job.” He waved her away and turned back to watch his show. “You can take responsibilities, too.” “You’re going to tell me to take responsibilities? You can’t even do everything you’re supposed to.” “Do you want to be a good influence on the kids?” “I think I am a pretty good influence.” Beth sighed. She couldn’t live like this. To her, it wasn’t about the laundry. It wasn’t about Steve being lazy. She couldn’t believe that this was all there was to life. “Will dinner be ready soon?” Steve asked her. “You know what?” ...

Journey Six days. It had only been six days since Cornelia and Bella had left home, but it was as if decades had passed by. Their world had been tipped upside-down in front of their eyes; it was unrecognizable. Cornelia wanted to go back to her mother in their bakery, with nothing to worry about except for her mother getting angry with her. She wanted to wake up in her bed again, with the birds chirping as the scent of fresh bread from the oven filled the space around her. Yes, maybe she would wake up and all of it would be a dream. She glanced at Bella, but Bella was busy watching the scenery go by from the side of the boat. They were headed downstream, where they had been told to get off at the next village. After that, they didn’t know where they were headed. Cornelia didn’t want to know. She didn’t even want to be there in the first place. She didn’t belong there. It wasn’t the journey for her. She imagined her dad’s ghost, urging her to leave. Telling her that she was the only one...

Juggling Sofia pulled photograph after photograph from her wall and threw them into a pile on her empty mattress. It was the last wall; all the others were completely empty, and her floor was filled with boxes and bags. She stared at a photograph that she had been waiting until the last minute to take down. It was a picture of her with her dad when he’d taken them on a trip to San Francisco together. “I wish you were still here,” she whispered. She knew he couldn’t hear him, he was gone. He’d been gone for two years. It was just her and her mom in an apartment. But now, even that apartment was being taken away from her. She couldn’t keep anything. She couldn’t keep up her grades. She couldn’t stay at one school. She couldn’t keep a relationship with anyone. She was just there, existing in a constant state of in-between. Not knowing if she’d ever have a stable life, not knowing if her mom would ever make enough money for them to live comfortably. Only one poster remained on her wall, it...