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Self introspection essay
Self introspection essay
The importance of learning about creative writing
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Roslyn's mouth and throat was dry. She slid her arm out from under the blanket in search of the water-bottle she kept on her nightstand. When she felt only air where her nightstand should have been she thought this strange, but didn't fret over it. She shifted, and instead of the edge of her bed, her foot pressed up against something firm and upholstered. This was also strange.
She sighed - feeling the dryness in her throat and chest and mouth. She groaned. Where was her water-bottle. She flailed her arm outside of the blankets again to no avail. She reached her other arm up to where her head was - her head was still at the top of her neck, that was good, she guessed, though with the pain beginning to shoot up her head into her temples the
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Roslyn groaned piteously. Maybe if she just waited a little longer the sun would go away and leave her alone. Wait... Roslyn thought. There was something wrong with that idea... What was... "Oh shit!" Roslyn sat up, throwing the blanket off of her. She blinked, dazed by the light and tried to get her head to stop spinning and her eyes to focus. She was lying on the sofa under a blanket. She cast her eyes around her until she found her phone on the coffee table. She grabbed at it, missed, then sat up with her feet on the floor and leaned forward to grab it. In leaning forward, she threw up in her …show more content…
She took a shower while she was at it, towelling off and then wrapping the towel around her head. Roslyn never wore clothes and so didn't bother wrapping a towel around her body.
She returned to the couch and picked her phone up off the carpet. It was mid-afternoon. It was also Thursday. She had missed her only two classes for that day. She also had about thirty unread text messages. She didn't both to check any of them as she remembered why she had been drinking. She put her phone down and put both hands to her face. A surge of emotions swelled within her, more unpleasant than the bile had been earlier. She laid back down on the couch and resolved not to get up again for anything. Then her stomach grumbled.
She groaned again and checked her phone again. She massaged her aching head, struggling to make her brain work and realized her roommate, Nicholas, would be getting home from class soon if he wasn't going straight to swim practice. Maybe if she could get him to take pity on her he would go get her something from the deli across the street... Roslyn looked at the coffee table and its strewn detritus. "Oh shit," she said again. She remembered that, when she had drunk all her wine, she had then drunk all of Nicholas's beer without asking him first. Well, she thought, maybe if she offered to pay for the beer and for dinner for both of them she could convince him to go get it for the two of
2. “When they entered the apartment, Louie went straight to his cache of liquor. It was the time of night when the need usually took hold of him, but for the first time in years, Louie had no desire to drink.”
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. (Notice the hints given)
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she began applying liquid stitches ointment Dr. Browdeski had given her to fully mend her wounds. When she’d finished, she grabbed a cold bottled water from the mini fridge in their bedroom and popped a couple of the Oxycontin painkillers the doctor had prescribed for her. After washing them down she started feeling the numbing effects of the narcotic. Going downstairs to the bar, she fixed a stiff glass of vodka, hoping that it would put her exactly where she needed to be, in the bed and out of her misery, even if only for the
Trails of thick smoke danced in the air, twirling into all sorts of directions. Nothing but haze fogged up the brown tinted aviators dangling off Detective Killinger’s eyes. Out from his eternal slumber, Killinger awoke as the backend of a lawn chair tipped back ever so slightly. As he wrangled around on the warm red carpet, a cold metal vice clenched his wrist, preventing him from exiting the scene. Handcuffs. Of course, he fished around into the abyss of his pockets, only to come up with a handful of lint, an empty flask, a crumpled pack of Camel cigarettes, and the address of a motel. No badge. No gun.
Warm tears were running down my cheeks as I closed the door behind me. My brain just won’t register the information. How am I supposed to live with this? It’s all her fault.
The night before, I didn’t practice my English so I knew what to say. By now, I knew most of the words, so I would just let my heart guide me. Besides, my cramped old house, which is actually just a junky garage in an abandoned alley, is too small to let out my feelings. Once I got to school after a cold walk in the snow, I placed myself by her locker and waited. Fourteen minutes had gone by, and still no sign of Lily. I only had a minute to get to class now, so I hurriedly collected myself and ran to my locker. I was disappointed, knowing that without Lily here, it would be the hardest day of school. I opened my locker and to my surprise a note fell to the floor. I quickly picked it up and gazed at the neat handwriting that clearly spelled my name.
I shook my head, ashamed for invading my friends’ tragedies with memories I conjured up by their descriptions of them. I was still staring at Alice’s relaxed posture. The frown on her face was evident even while she rested unconscious with wrinkles near her seventeen year old eyes. I could still see the scar from stitches. Vesper shifted under the blankets on Alice’s couch. He was missing a father while Sebastian and I were missing a mother. But Alice was missing the two people that had given her life and left while she was living it. A trust fund was left in their
The sickness in the center of her mind tried to encroach the memory of the image of a smiling Jacob in need of a haircut, yet, instead she recalled the moment the picture was snapped. She waited for the gush—it trickled, tickling on its way down her arm to drip off her gray fingers holding his note. The gush landed in her pocket; safe, from the sickness.
According to the W.H.O. Scottish people are more than three times more likely to be murdered than those who live in England and Wales. This is blamed on our excessive use of drugs and alcohol. It has been found that around half of the murders in Scotland are committed by people under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Most of the violence is caused by gangs making an attempt to control the city's drug trade, but a culture of young men carrying knives also plays a huge part. Recently there has been a study into what causes people to commit murder; Scientists have found that a combination
Armin kept his hands clasped together in his lap, pulling and twisting at his fingers like an old dish rag. His nerves were at an all time high and the stress was eating away at his insides like a persistent virus that wouldn't go away. Armin shifted nervously in his chair, his fingers remained intertwined, and he clenched his jaw. He glanced around the room, from corner to corner, as if he was waiting for something, or someone, to pull him out of this nerve-wracking situation.
Convinced, Nagisa nodded reluctantly, grabbed his backpack, and climbed up the stairs, the pain in his neck expanding wider. He went to his dark and gloomy room, sitting on his...“mattress,” and sat in silence, thinking about the things that happened in his life. Unconsciously, Nagisa cried, tears dripping down from his chin. He gasped.
The third maddening buzz of my alarm woke me as I groggily slid out of bed to the shower. It was the start of another routine morning, or so I thought. I took a shower, quarreled with my sister over which clothes she should wear for that day and finished getting myself ready. All of this took a little longer than usual, not a surprise, so we were running late. We hopped into the interior of my sleek, white Thunderbird and made our way to school.
She was no ordinary child, no. In fact, she was just the opposite- extraordinary- it’s just nobody knew that yet.
Imagining, my mind wandering from thought to thought. Sleep was more descending when a sound, a whispering hiss woke me from my trance. A gust of air drifted by, blowing a wisp of hair across my face, and the door creaked. Watching, I expected the door to close, as it always does. It opened, at a steady slow rate. A shadow lay across the floor, broken by the branches against the moonlight
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.