CREATIVE WRITING ACTIVITY--WORD LIST 1

(Staring into darkness, he speaks)
Wickedness stirs this night. Seeking the blackness in men's souls.

(From the shadows, a soft voice beckons)
My Lord, I cannot sleep. May I stay within this room.

(He continues his stare into black space)
Surely, your presence reliefs me of this trance. I am consumed by it. This search for a portal to the eve's events.

My Lord?

(He turns to her)
This night a snitch did appear. He tells me my guards have faded away. I am left unprotected. Methinks the angle of death will be my next guest.

(She runs towards him)
No! No! My Lord, this cannot be!

Quiet woman! I will not signal fear to my opponent.

(A crunch is heard off stage. He grabs his sword)

be back when i wake up a bit, could take awhile tho...

The light seemed to dim as John's muscles relaxed and became pliable. His breathing slowed. He felt comfort and at peace as he fell into a trance. Out of the growing darkness came a soft voice. The voice was vaguely familiar, perhaps it was his mother's lullaby, but she was dead these many years. Perhaps it was God whispering in his ear. John strained to hear and understand what the voice was saying, but could not.

He hear a click, a flick, and a great light burst upon him from a small window high above him in the darkness. John was blinded by the light, and cringed back into darkness. There was no comfort in the night, but fear. Shaggy creatures lingered there. Unseen hulking, slimy, drooling beasts with fangs and bloody claws lived there. John shivered at the sound of approaching shuffling steps. Out of the gloom came a greasy paw that pinned him into place. A wheezing whisper accused him of a life of wickedness, and of being a snitch. John recoiled from the thought, and knew it was a lie. He broke away, leaving some flesh and blood behind, and ran. His steps echoed off the stones, but he seemed not to move at all. Between his running steps there was the passage of hours, and darkness never varied. It seemed time was slowing down, and fear pushed him on. He slowed. He walked and a long row of chinks in the ceiling, no larger than small stars, appeared over his shoulder. In the dimness, he saw a little wooden door set into the granite wall. The wood was scarred, battered by time and held together by rusted iron. He reached out to it, and felt the splinters beneath his soft palm. He pushed, knowing deep within himself that through this opening was his eternal future. He shut his eyes, and stepped through the portal into sunshine.

Ash, interesting prose...you have a way with words.

I'm trying to learn to write clear, interesting prose. Bear with me.