Page 115 - creative spark6

116 creative sparks a collection of creative writing by EPTS 117

over the landscape of his village. kicking a sooty leather ball that hunt; by ten, the streets would be every passing second built up to that
Through the window, the world bounced about barrels of ale and filed with people heading to different layer of apprehension. The boy closed
seemed to be bleached off its colour. rusted carts, spraying snow. One of establishments. And by eleven, sons his eyes and lay down on his back,
From afar located the vast expense of the boys in an old tweed jacket was from different families would come breathing in and out deeply, rewinding
untouched forest, reserved for the good pursuing the ball, yelling out at his together and play on the street in front the consequences of what was to
huntsmen of the village. From the friends; the other one with flaxen hair of his house. follow, or could, or would betide him
visible edge of the forest lay an empty was running after him, waving his The boy coveted very much to join inside his head.
space of snow perturbed by visible hands all about; all were laughing and the company. Already he had started to
tracks of wheels, isolated from all were fine. Trucks drove by at feel lonely and forlorn; the passing of Music drifted into his room from
the settlement by a row of wooden sporadic intervals, constantly disrupting his father had affected both him and his the antique phonograph situated in
stockades. The boy shifted his view the game. mother rather drastically. Nevertheless, the sitting room downstairs, and
from the orderly lines of grey houses, They – the mother and the boy – he was uncertain about how he would commingled with the convivial voice
taverns made of timber, and vegetable had moved here some two weeks approach these kids, for the idea of and cries of the children that came
stalls to the snow-paved street before earlier, after the demise of his father. opening the door of his house and through the thin sheets of glass. A sheaf
him with an emphatic sense of unease. And for two weeks the boy had locked facing them frightened him so, and he of drawing papers rested spread across
People were walking ordinarily himself up in his room, observing and feared what they would make of him; the table; some were blank, and some
minding their own business; farmers studying his new home from this he was rather unsure of what to do or were painted the pictures of wild
called out to passers-by, flourishing window. Every day appeared to be the say, and scared that the other boys animals – foxes, wolves, bears, and
their crops on the trays before them; repetition of the day before; in the might find his company dreary and moose – with crayons kept in a pewter
men and women alike frequented nearby predawn hours, proprietors of markets uninteresting, for he knew that to them tin can. Other drawings were taped to
roadhouses, coming out inebriate and stalls rose to arrange their he would be considered only a stranger. the walls next to a deer-head mount.
and happy; several elderlies rested commodities; the lady living in the The boy had made up his mind Dust moats floated idly in the air.
on rocking chairs on their verandas house across the street would hang her though, for there existed a second Miniature animal statuettes
smoking cheap cigars, blowing out hazy washed clothes as the first light seeped enticing alternative possibility that he reposed on the whatnot beside the bed
rings. Among them, young boys – through the eastern horizon; by nine, thought was worth finding out. And to was reminiscent of the boy’s halcyon
neighbours, whose familiar faces were huntsmen would get on their trucks and hold true, lingering inside his room only days spent with his father gaming in
not unknown – frolicked on the street, drove to the perimeter of the forest to exacerbated the pressure in him, as if the woods. He loved hunting, though he