Creative Writing Club

The prompt I most struggled with was when we wrote poems on a disaster. I’ve always struggled with poetry (hopefully someone can sympathise with this). No matter how much I toiled to understand rhymes and the odd structures poetry seemed to adopt, nothing ever made sense. Honestly, quadratic equations was a walk in the park compared to my relationship with poetry. Despite my hardship with this form, my fellow writers succeeded in making me laugh and even incorporated a story within their poem[s]. If you ever give poetry a try, I hope that your experience is better than mine. - Ophelia (9D)

From all the prompts, I really enjoyed writing from the perspective of a statue and comprising a story of being frozen in place. I loved examining all of the details to the character, but also the bottled-up emotions felt and the intricate perspective the statue has on everything around it. Additionally, writing from a snail's viewpoint was also exciting since it was so out of my mind and something I had never considered doing. Thinking about the path the animal would take, and the friends it would have was really fun to come up with, even to the colour of the mushroom it was perched on. - Em (9D)

For me, the prompt that I struggled the most with was a prompt where we had to write about a science lesson in different genres (Science-Fiction, Romantic Fiction and Action Adventure). I find it hard to write in different styles when it is directly requested of me, and to write about a science lesson where I have to include heightened emotion came as a struggle. Since I also don’t tend to read Science Fiction or Action Adventure novels anymore, I was at a loss when it came to creating an effective response to the prompt. - Millie (8A)

Small, miniature mushrooms appear as rice hats that cover the grassy hills, like thousands of soldiers standing by for battle. They appear fragile and delicate as if with one touch they would dissolve away with this idyllic landscape. They stand between tall strands of vivid green grass surrounding the many ecosystems, living their lives, growing and thriving. But, these stark red mushrooms make their presence known, having an ubiquitous influence on the hills. It’s as if they emit a taste of rhubarb custard with their deep crimson coating and pale beige polka dots.

When you walk, you fear that you might break their thin stems underfoot, but if you look closer, you will spot ladybirds, caterpillars, dragonflies and bees all lazing on the mushroom tops, taking in the cool breeze and floral scents. The one you rest your eyes on appears imperfect compared to the others, sluggish somehow, as if it's been dormant for the season. Nevertheless, its rough-around-the-edges charm holds your eye and slowly but surely, two polka dot eyes squint open and focus on you. The black dots appear to enrapture your entire attention, making you forget about reality and normality. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eyes you spot surrounding mushrooms shuffling towards your one hopping up and down together like at a dance. After a few moments, these mushrooms enclose themselves around the damaged one and create a circle around it, supporting and assisting their friend. You see yourself pulling a smile, you’re in awe of the ways nature survives and how it communicates. Not conventionally, but still lovingly.

(Em- 9D)

The kitchen features a similar design to the library, panels lining the lower half of the wall although, quite different to the library the cream paint is accompanied by many splashes or different cuisines. These splashes serve as a cookbook for me, recognising the spices intertwined with different vegetables and condiments has become a favourite pastime of mine. Hiding inside the green cabinets is something comparable to clutter, a collection of antique kitchen utensils although not quite useful when one is endeavouring to create a more modern dish. For me, the kitchen is a portal to the past, times as a girl when I would sit on the counter top recounting my day to my mother whilst we sipped fresh orange juice, although the highlight of my childhood days spent sat upon the countertop was when she would invite me to test one of her more adventurous creations. She would often utter the words ‘I am not sure a child would like this’ but I always did.

(Erin 8D)

This thing appeared before my eyes. Its body seemed to contort into unthinkable positions like an eel would glide through the water. Iridescent scales coved it from head to tail, glistening whenever the light of the moon should strike upon it, giving it a texture not unlike that of a fish darting through the sea. Refusing to look me in the eye, it turned away from me, flicking its mighty tail in my direction. Tendrils of magenta flowed down its back, moving like gravity had no effect on it whatsoever. How I wished to touch it. I reached out for it. When my fingertips gently touched its mysteriously rough scales, it flinched, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a hum. Finally, its head turned towards me. There is no way for me to possibly describe its expression. At first glance it may seem empty, yet it told the tale of a thousand emotions presiding over this creature simultaneously. Its mercurial eyes were mirrors reflecting its tormented soul. As I stood there gazing into its eyes, all else seemed to melt away, fading to black. All at once it felt to me that this magnificent creature was pleading for help whilst wishing for my departure, leaving it to its solemn solidarity. I would not leave it. I could not leave it.

Ophelia (9D)

I named the bird The River Phoenix. It did not occur to me that its characteristics matched that of the late actor because in the two hours I spent in its presence, my creativity was drained and I could think of no other name for the bird except for the one that would state the blatant obvious. I could translate the name to Latin to make it sound more scientific, or rearrange the words to that of ‘Phoenix of the River’, but I’m too stubborn to do so.

Millie (8A)

I learnt a new word recently. Obfuscate. To obfuscate is to make something obscure, unclear, or unintelligible. I whisper that word to myself now. It’s very fitting of my situation. Surrounded by fog, barely able to see even a metre in front of me.

“What does ob- obfus- ob-fus-kate mean?”

I start, then looked to my left at the hazy figure of Livvy Wilson (6), and just visible past her, Isaac Brown (10), turning to me.

“To obfuscate is to make something unclear,” I say, “But that isn’t the point right now, and─”

I’m cut off by a yell, and Caitlin Scott (15) running towards us.

“It’s here! RUN!”

And from the fog, a deep growl echoes…