Creative Writing

  It was 1905 in southern Porto Corsa, Italy. The Annachello Mafia boss, Andreanio Ragelinni, just got married to his 23 year old University sweetheart, Inglesiana Mariano. She knows the risks that she is taking marrying someone in such a high rank of crime. She is prepared to die for him. “ Andie, dear. Please dance with me.” Andie is the nickname she gave him back at Turin Vail University. “ I am coming dear. Hold on one second.” Inglesiana walks outside to the wet , sandy, Italian beach barefoot. She could not bear to wear her Balenciaga open toe heels anymore. Every step she took in them was like getting shot in the ankle 8000 times. Andie met with her just as it started raining. The soldiers quickly revealed expensive umbrellas that were pure black with a red handle and put them over the now dancing couple. Halfway through the first waltz, Inglesiana notices something very strange. Her husband still has his 2000 dollar custom fitted Prada dress shoes on. The soldiers still had...

  It is where memories go to dwell forever, all good, bad, and in between. When you look into the storage of memories, you think to yourself, “ was it a memory or a dream?” Most of them are probably memories. Then there is a memory that is actually a dream. It is a dream that follows you, pushes your mind to the limit of human thinking, driving you insane. You try to shake it. Your membranes are spinning so fast in your mind that you cannot think straight. You want to say something, but can’t. You sleep it off or jog to clear your mind. Is it a good or bad dream? You hope it is a good dream. Is it days in a flower filled field or nights alone in a cold, empty room with air vents filled with Smokey embers and voices of people you fear? You open that dream in your brain. You are shaking violently because you are nervous of the mental pain you might endure if it is bad. Your mind goes blank. Blood rushes to your head. Your fingers go numb. You start to feel uneasy and sick. Voices in ...

  For years and years, I was there. I did not see many things, except for people calling me skinny white boy and four eyes. I created things in my mind to accompany me and help me fight my battles. I had a mindset for this thing, called school. It was a mindset different from the rest, as it involved simple yes’s and no’s, ignoring things, and keeping my eyes fixed on my tasks. Every morning I would get into this mindset. I was laughed at and almost beaten because of my shirt color and stupid things like that. I would channel a monster for the day and become it for the day. It could be a good monster or bad, but I became nice when I needed to. I was friends with the monsters, because they were real. No one else could see, hear, or touch them. They were only real to me. I could open them up and bottle them up whenever wanted to. Sometimes, I wish they were actually real.