At some point in college I took a creative writing course, where I had an amazing professor and learned that writing is awesome. I hadn’t written since middle school, when I wrote a short story about a cat that could go through walls and other materials and was out for revenge on the man who had tried to kill it. Sirens was the first story I wrote seriously for that creative writing class; it was based on a dream I had! I’m not going to reread it, just gonna post it here in all its early writing crumminess. It’s going to be posted in two parts.
Short Story: Horror
He was too young, and he shouldn’t have seen the wreckage. But he had run away from his mother and she was at that moment on the other side of the crowd, screaming his name. He paid her no mind and slipped between the onlookers, the gawkers flown to the scene to stare at the wonder. He wanted to see what they were staring at, what they were standing on their toes to witness, peering over and between each others’ heads. He could smell smoke and hear sirens, but he couldn’t see. He had to see. The sirens grew closer and he pushed his way in, muscling his way between the people as best he could until he finally broke out at the edge of the crowd.
Smeared Black Ink 