Alright, this is the finale from Uintah High School. If you haven’t seen the others, start with the post about Charley and go from there. These are the products from my first author appearances with Lehua Parker and Angela Hartley. We started out at Union High School with some theater classes who performed scenes, then moved on to creative writing classes in Vernal, Utah.
I’m excited to share the talent of these students.
“So Martin, what time of day is your favorite?” asked Stacie.
When she asked that, my memory flashed back to when I was little, to that long shadowed road that was bright enough through the thick fog to see but dark enough to feel the claws of night scratch down on your back. I smiled. That road was always beautiful, no matter the time of day. But I was also fearful of it. You could look in any direction and all shapes seemed to fade from reality. When you tried to focus on them, you felt wounded because the fog dulled your sight, stole your hearing, and even took your sense of smell.
“Morning,” I smiled softly at her.
The line about the claws of night really hits a spot for me–very concrete and an excellent example of using the senses in description.
The sound of the sun rising creaked through the trees and the taste of green on the moist grass sweetened the battle that was about to unfold.
Another good example of quality over quantity. The sun creaking gives me the impression that the morning is opening slowly, like a slow motion scene in a movie just before it speeds to real time.
The two samurai stand there, staring at the shadow man, the mist swirling and clutching like the fingers of ghosts. The shadow man turns and lets loose the cries of millions of poor, slaughtered souls of Asia. The cries rumbled the ground beneath the samurai. Both warriors clutch the swords at their sides, wincing at the memories of those they couldn’t save. With the sun rising at their backs, the two valiant warriors draw their swords and advanced nervously.
I’m personally a huge fan of samurai. This was the most original take on the scene from the stack that I drew from the class. Good vocab, Patrick.
My journey continued, I didn’t know what i was looking for, but I knew that when I reached this invisible flag, my journey would end. The dense fog hugged my body. Suddenly a bright light began to rise from the hill in the road.
No, this isn’t it.
The light felt cold and empty. It wasn’t what I was searching for. The light faded and already the bitter taste of failure crept in.
Bradon seemed to really get the concept of synesthesia (the crossing of senses) and nailed it in a couple different places. Can you find them?
Have a poem or creative writing piece you’d like me to look at? I’m open to guest blog posts, etc. Send it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I’ll take a look at it.