Creative Non-Fiction

Dear reader,

I must confess, I have a very difficult time writing Non-fiction. When I write, I write purely for the magic. The fairies, the monsters, the wizards, I love all of it. When you take that away from me, I am a shriviling husk of a writer. Sure, I have some great stories to tell, but what fun is telling them if they aren't greatly exagerated and containing magic and impossible things?

Sincerly, 

A xx

MY ATEMPT AT A NON FICTION

Johnny Meyer grew up in Alaska, with six brothers. Their closest neighbors lived a few miles away, so they virtually stuck together. He happened to be the worst of the bunch; constantly causing problems and what not.

On his birthday, when he turned seven, he was given a brand new swiss army knife. "We had this old oak tree in our back yard, with a swing atached to it," he said, "My little brother Steve loved that swing. After getting my new knife, I went outside and climbed the tree, just waiting for him."

Sure enough, Steve went outside and began to swing back and forth and sure enough, Johnny started sawing away at the rope holding the swing to the tree. After sawing for a good two minutes, there was a snapping sound and a shreak, and sure enough you saw Steve flying over the yard, landing in a heap on the ground.

"My mom heard him yell and came outside," Said the Meyer brother, "She yelled my name and I climbed down the tree and handed over my knife without another word."

The swing incident wasn't the only exciting moment of Johnny Meyers life. He had too many stories to count.

A STRANGE PAST

"Grandma?" Myra's huge blue eyes looked up from a box she had been going through. "What's this?"

Grandma looked up to see a gold jewel encrusted key dangling from Myra's tiny hands, the lights catching the jewels and reflecting off like a rainbow. Grandma smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes making them twinkle.

"Well my dear," She said as she studdied her blanket she was knitting, "Come here and I'll tell you a story."

The little girl walked forward and sat down in front of her grandma's rocking chair, looking intently up at her. "Once upon a time," she began. "When I was young, I stumbled across a secret garden behind a wall at my home in London. The key fit perfectly in the door-"

"How'd you get the key?" The little girl looked up at her in wonder.

Her grandma smiled, "That my dear, is a very long story."

And so the story began.




ARIA HAD NOT BEEN OUTSIDE IN A VERY LONG  TIME.....

She had been in the manor, kept inside because of the rain, for at least a week. To a fifteen yearold who loved the gardens, a week felt like forever. She moped around the enormous house, trying to find something to do. After losing her governess on the second floor, Aria attempted to break into one of the locked rooms on the forth.

She successfully used a hair pin, jiggling it until the lock came loose, and the door opened easily. slipping inside, she began to look around. A glint caught her eye. It had come from under the bed. After dropping on her hands and knees, she began to search for the sparkle. Not regarding the several nasty things that couldve made a home underneith, she reached and felt for a second before she felt something. Grasping her hand around it, she withdrew a key.

FAIRY TALES

Aria was not a murderer.

   Her life was suspicious, that was for sure; daughter of a wealthy king, a beautiful heir to the throne, and she had a secret.

   She left her castle every night with her twelve sisters to dance.

   Dancing was forbidden in the kingdom of Gahmole; The king said that it was disruptive and unproductive, therefore it was not to be done. Aria was an amazing dancer and didn't care for rules; that was the first problem.

The second was that whenever the princesses disappeared, there was a murder. The body would be found in a grotesque way, with some type of clue leading back to the princesses.

But they never left the castle; so it couldn't be them.

Someone was trying to frame the royal family, and they were doing an excelent job of making sure that it was working.

Free Reviews

Does anyone want me to reveiw their stories? I will give detailed comments and an honest opinion. If so, please post the link of your story into my comments.

Thanks Babes!

A xx

WELLS HAWKINS, Gladiator

Prologue 



The lights from the arena could be seen from miles. They lit up the crumbling buildings beyond the walls, New York's once famous skyscrapers nothing but tattered ruins taken over by the dead. The lights glowed, brightening the city at night, making it difficult to sleep. To an outsider, the arena might be considered beautiful; To all of us in Ephrim, it was a death sentence.

A place where the living were taken to be sacrificed by the dead.

But the government wouldn't say that; oh no. They were just trying to find a cure, hosting the fights to earn money and support from the riches. They said they wanted to keep our loved ones safe from the monsters behind the giant walls. The government would never admit to the lies.

They want control, and they had it.

The arena reminded us of this.


Chapter One

I wasn't allowed on the roof at night; It was breaking curfew, and we could be fined heavily for it. But there was a place, behind a vent where I was hidden from any prying eyes. The shadows made sure of it. I watched as the Tanqilitors drove down the streets in their army jeeps, eyes and flashlights sweeping the road.

They passed the Rideout's and Davis's apartment, moving onto the next broken down apartment. I watched them for another few minutes before they passed my house, and then my street, turning in the corner. I let out a sigh of relief. They were gone.

I waited another minute, scanning the roads, making sure that all of the tranks had actually left before swinging myself over the side of the two story building. Using the old bricks as foot holes, I climbed down swiftly, swinging my body into me and Cole's room.

I landed with a soft thud, and I glanced over to see if Cole had stirred; he hadn't. His short, messy blond hair was sticking to his forehead and his tiny body was curled up into a ball on his side. He snored quite loudly for a three year old, and I couldn't help but smile at him.

I kicked off my tattered boots and climbed onto the small mattress next to him and fell asleep.



The music began in the morning.

The Unions Nation Anthem began to play all over the city, the speakers on the outside of each apartment crackling as the old speakers blared the song. I sat up, blinking. Cole was still asleep beside me, wrapped in a tattered quilt.

The song ended, and normally the speakers would shut off, but a male voice came booming over the city. "Good Citizens of Ontarian. I regret that I must announce that Gladiator Adam Mitchel has passed. He was attacked last night at his training center. We are attempting to track his killer. Due to the homicide, we will be having a choosing ceremony tomorrow. All people, the ages 15 to 18 will be required to attend. Thank you for your time, our deepest condolences from the Empire."

The line went dead.