Creative Writing: Assignment #1: ‘Spots of Time’

This is the first assignment for Creative Writing. We were suppose to take a memory, and build upon it from there. It was suppose to be 2 pages…Mine crossed over onto page 4. *laughs* Anyway (yeah, I know, I still haven’t put my my essays from Spring semester…I’ll get to that, just as soon as I can relocate them, as they are not on this computer…I think they are on my brain)…Hope you enjoy.

Her Childhood Home

The air was always cool and damp, the cement bricks of the cellar giving off a musty, earthy smell. Despite the bright sun that shown outside, and the door leading out being open, without the light on, the furthest recesses of the cellar remained shrouded in darkness.

Darkness and it’s relatives were suppose to scare little children, but I felt at home there, embraced by the chill, by the imaginings of a child.

Vampires lived in the shadows, my cousins and I were certain of it, but they were nothing to fear, they welcomed me as if I were one of their own. I could play in the cool darkness for a good portion of the day, though my eyes would ache when I returned to the light of the surface world.

My cousins on the other hand were quick to suggest the summoning of the light. With a swift flick of the switch most, though not all, of the shadows would abate. Here we would all play until the chill became too much, and once more they yearned for the warmth of the sun upon their flesh. I would trudge along behind them, knowing they at least spoke allowed, where as the shadows only whispered in my mind.

How little I knew then. How sometimes the things of imaginings are realer than reality. How just because someone says it’s so, doesn’t make it true. Folklore and faerie tales, demoted from things of substance to flights of fancy. The hidden meanings, the hidden truths, lost through the ages, relegated to myths, and things of fiction.

When we played, it was I who volunteered (always me), to be the ‘victim’ of the ‘things’ in the shadows. It was I who was attacked. It was I who screamed in the dark. It was I who emerged, changed.

Sometimes I would live peacefully, having procured “special” items that would protect me from the sun’s harmful light. Others…My cousins would become my victims, falling to my fangs. None of them, as I recall, ever rose from their wounds. Perhaps they weren’t quite as special, perhaps they couldn’t really hear the whispers in the shadows calling to them…Calling to me.

These were the thoughts, the memories that slipped through Breanne’s mind as she stood before the façade of the old two story farm house. The night shadows had already blended together, creating an impenetrable darkness that her eyes could see through as if it were the brightest day.

Breathing in, more out of habit than necessity, Breanne allowed the scents of the night air to linger, reminding her of days gone by. Even the faintest of aromas reached her nostrils; apples turning from sweet green fruit to sickly brown mush on the ground from across the yard, the musky smell of the dog, which had fallen silent, scurrying quickly back into it‘s home upon a stare down with her, and the ambrosial aroma of the liquid that pulsed just slightly out of reach, encased in the form of the last mortal who took up residence in the place of her childhood.

It was still hours till dawn, till she had worry of shelter, finding herself here though, Breanne once more longed for the security of childhood. Carefully she pulled up two boards that had been laid upon the hole that lead to the cellar door, slipping her lithe figure through carefully, pulling the boards back into place behind her. It wouldn’t due to have someone find her once the sun was up.

The door, its blue paint peeling from years of neglect, stood before her. Despite knowing it was not possible, Breanne could feel her heart thudding inside her chest, could hear it crying out in anticipation, as she pushed the door open.

The cellar was separated into two rooms, with two doors on either side of the wall that separated them. Reaching out, Breanne ran her fingers along the rough wooden stairs that led to the house above. The trap door was shut, no doubt piled high with objects that would not allow for it to be opened; she could only remember once or twice that door ever being used.

Behind the stairs still sat the crude table, overturn milk crates and another piece of wood. The white styrofoam cooler still sat there, still full of dirt. Though without someone to offer constant care, the earthworms inside had dried out along with the soil, ceasing their tireless tunnelling.

Turning her back on the rest of the room, knowing contents all too well, she closed the distance to the entrance to the next room, the one that always, even with the lamp, still offered some shadows. With another unneeded breath, she stepped thru the doorway, eyes falling on the furthest corner, where she had always known the vampires to live, where they had always whispered to her.

“You have finally come home,” a familiar voice whispered.

Breanne nodded, “Yes, I have.”