Creative writing pieces

I am eating dinner with my family, fish and potatoes. My mum is sitting towards me, and my ten years old brother is laughing with potato and fish in his mouth. He is wearing a big knitted sweater in red, blue and white. He is looking like a walking Norwegian flag. “I am not hungry”. I am whispering. My mum looks concerned at me. “Emma, you have to eat something”. “I am not hungry I said” I shout, and run to my room. “I am not perfect”, I scream when I am using all my powers to remove the posters from my wall, celebrities who smiles at me with white teeth and golden skin.

I wrote this, tell me what you think; prompt #4-dancing
You see her tapping her toes, always listening to music. Although she doesn’t like the music, what she doesn’t know yet is it will be stuck in her head for the next year. She’s as graceful as a butterfly yet as strong as a fighter. Many only see a pretty face yet those close enough to the fire know the passion burning deep inside of her.
At home she’s quiet, always in her room yet making loud noises through the floorboards. Her parents know what she’s up to but her little brothers don’t quite understand yet. All they know is that when she goes up there she’s listening to music and soon she will play it for the whole neighborhood to hear. They don’t know that she’s practicing, practicing for the most important day of the year. The one she’s been waiting for since she’s been a little girl. Tapping her toes at the table only stops when her parents beg her to rest. Even in her dreams she on stage, dancing like a swan. Yet deep down she’s scared of the failure that she will feel if this one day goes a bit to south.
Tapping her toes to the beat of her music gives her a bit of pip in her pep when she walks down the halls. No one quite understands the stress she’s going through. Through her smile she’s worries, scared that one misstep might end it all for her. But she won’t let anyone see that she’s nervous. She’s used to getting bruises, she falls on the ground but always gets back up. Because she’s a dancer, the show must go on.

My nose was red, and I had an occasional case of the sniffles not that I was really bothered about it. Nevertheless it might not be winter but the whispy breeze, and the coldness of the astomophere was indicating that it was near. I paused at the tree, in the middle of a meadow. A meadow packed with tall soft grass, flowers that were in the process of blooming and the silent birds that peacefully flew on by in the bright clear sky. I parked myself down, my back resting on the bark of the old tree my knees tucked into my chest while my arms rested on top of my knees.

Creative writing pieces

creative writing pieces

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