Sensory Writing Exercise From Unspoken

Hey guys, here is a writing exercise I did while writing a short story entitled Unspoken (which is still to come going through some editing) I thought that it was really good when I finished it. The passage is written in first POV but Unspoken is in 3rd POV so thats something that is a bit different. So here is an excerpt from Unspoken.

Warmth hit my face, almost immediately my eyes opened themselves and I was slightly blinded by the sun’s rays. I closed my eyes again tightly to block out the sun’s blinding light. Tighter and tighter, I squeezed my eyelids. Darkness filled my sight. I opened them back up again. I tried to emerge myself from the warm comforter, but I realized Kara was there laying next to me. I opened my eyes to assure myself that I wasn’t dreaming. There she lied peacefully. The eye make up that was beautifully placed on her face yesterday was now a bit smudged. Her beauty blinded me; similar to the way the sun blinded me. Her hair was tousled everywhere. She had one curly strand in her face. I moved the tendril, feeling the soft, contour of the curl. She moved slightly to release my arm from her body. As she moved, the scent of her essence filled my nose. She smelled of citrus. Her scent energized me. I rose from the bed. I felt the soft bumpy carpet on my cold feet. I couldn’t help but watch her as I made my way to the window to close the windows and relieve her of the blinding light that beat against her soft, and fragile eyelids. She groaned a bit, which sent a sort of urgency within my body. I moved quietly and carefully towards the window, being sure not to wake her. I touched the window and the glass was cold. I left it open to catch a quick breeze. The wind started to pick it up. To be sure not to wake Kara, I quickly closed it. I returned to bed and let her scent surround me. My stomach conjured up butterflies and I had an urge to hold her. An urge to wake her. An urge to be a part of her world once again. An urge to be wrapped in her wild curls, an urge just to be wrapped inside her, so she could keep me safe and warm. The urges began to consume me, so I propelled myself out of bed. The sudden jolt nearly woke Kara; she mumbled, “Where are you going?” I answered her “Just to get the paper” I closed my eyes and kissed her forehead, allowing her sweet citrus scent to take hold of me. She grinned a bit and I went back to my task. I opened the door slightly, because it always creaked. The door let out a small creak and I slid through the crack I created. I walked through the dark living room, I was sure to close the shades there last night, so that Kara and I weren’t blinded when we decide to emerge from the bedroom. I looked at the microwave to get the time. 9:25, the paper was delivered an hour ago. I went to the door and unlocked it. A breeze flew into the apartment, and a sudden chill came over my body. I looked down and there on the linoleum tile was the paper. I grabbed it from the floor, and quickly re-entered the apartment. I locked the door and started to look at the newspaper headlines. I looked at the date and a cold chill ran up my body. This couldn’t be happening. I felt sick, my stomach was bottomless and my heart raced, faster and faster. I took a deep breath, and my mind raced to find a solution to this. With each heartbeat, my breathing got quicker and shallower. My heart took over my body. I slammed the newspaper down and urgently entered the room where Kara had spent the night. Thoughts clouded my head “How? Why? What?” were the only words that raced through my head. I became enraged as I observed her lying there peacefully I had to do something.  

Written on 11/6/2008

First Flash- The Desolate Street Corner.

Here is the First Flash Fiction, The Desolate Street Corner.

The Desolate Street Corner
By: Alysha Brown

The breeze was bitter and cold. It whipped around, shook the trees and ran straight into a young boy who was standing on the corner of a dark and lonely street. He tightened his blue sweater that he had to wear everyday to school as part of his uniform, but the breeze was determined to make him shiver. He began to shiver uncontrollably. A man in a dark car shouted to him “Jeremiah, just wait in the car!” He looked back at the man, and responded, “She will be here soon and I can’t want to miss her again!” The man rolled up the window, and mumble words of displeasure under his breath.

Jeremiah hugged his sweater tighter, determined to not let the wind take him. His sweater smelled like cigarettes from his father smoking in the car and pasta from the school lunch he ate earlier in the day. He knew his father was nervous; he smoked five cigarettes in the car as he drove to the street corner. As Jeremiah looked at his watch, a lump formed in his throat, he knew this would be another day that she wouldn’t show up. He thought, “How could I have been so stupid again?” His mother promised to show up this time and yet he already knew she wouldn’t.

He began to think back about a year and half ago when they were all a happy family. His mother didn’t work, because she wanted to be there for her son, Jeremiah. His father was a principal in a local school district and put in long hours. Jeremiah was an honor student in the 5th grade, he loved to read but math was his favorite. Everything was going well, until a sudden change struck his household. His mother began to be scarce around the house, suddenly she wasn’t able to pick Jeremiah up from school, attend his science fairs, make his meals, or correct his homework. She would be gone from dusk to dawn some days. She told Jeremiah and his dad, that Grandma was sick, and she was taking care of her. But the reality was that she was hooked on drugs. It wasn’t until Jeremiah’s dad discovered what she was doing, that he gave her an ultimatum, clean up your act or get out of the house. Jeremiah hadn’t seen her since that day. She called here and there to say Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, but every time she spoke to Jeremiah, she would ask him to meet her on the same street, so that they could all get some dinner and talk about things.

Jeremiah dreamed of the day that he would see his mother again, but he was always let down by her. This was the third time that she had pulled a stunt like this. Jeremiah’s dad always disapproved, but Jeremiah gave her the benefit of the doubt. He looked back at his watch, it was 9:30, and she was supposed to be there at 8.

The lump in his throat began to rise higher and higher, and a tear fell from his eyes. He didn’t understand why she didn’t want to see him, why she continued to let him down. The wind blow once again, and his fingers were beginning to get numb. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater. He walked across the street to where his father’s car was and entered in on the passenger side. He looked at his dad, and began to cry. His father grabbed him and said “Its not you at all, son.” He released Jeremiah and as the wind started to blow again, they sped off of the desolate street, leaving Jeremiah’s dream of seeing his mother ever again.




10/31/2008

Getting Started

Hey Blogging World, 

I am Alysha, and I will be joining the blogging world. I recently took a Creative Writing class and I rediscovered my love for writing, I guess creatively. I have been writing from a very young age mostly poetry but I have delved into writing poems, plays, flash fictions and short stories. This blog has been started by popular demand by my family eagerness to read my writings. When reading my blog there are two quotes that I want every reader to keep in mind.

"Every artist was first an amateur" -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Keep in mind that I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my s***"- Erykah Badu

I am open to suggestions and critiques but try to keep thing professional, and helpful. My writing will not appeal to everyone but if you enjoy it or have comments about how I can make it better that is greatly appreciated. Also I am just starting out and some of these drafts are not finals, so don't expect me to be a modern day Poe or Austen. Thank You for reading and enjoy!