Sophie's Extreme Writing 2021

Extreme Writing 2021 SOPHIE GRAHAM

Exploding Moments - Opening Your Favourite Book I hear the familiar crack of the spine as the dog-eared pages spill out. Stepping over the edge, I fall into a pool of old friends who never really leave my side, and bitter enemies that I love to hate. My scuffed boots skip along the winding hallways, shining my well-worn flashlight into all the twists and turns. Carefully, I lean over the gym balcony, grinning knowingly as Hazel steps in to look for her jumper, only to find something much more grim awaiting her...

Abstract Nouns Poem - Happiness Happiness is a ray of sunshine on the darkest days a light bulb, illuminating all the shadowy corners a small boat, fighting against a raging sea a platypus in a room full of empty silence a single colour in an ocean of gray

Exploding Moments - Memories with character (pt 1) The old wooden deck creaked under his sandals, the washed-out planks soaked in the reminders of past battles. He raised his blonde head, a huge grin across his face. He squeezed the trigger. A piercing scream cut through the near silence. He grinned. His plan had worked. The music blared into her headphones, the bass booming and the drums clattering, a girl with short brown hair and big purple glasses leaned backwards off the side of her unmade bed. A black and white checkered blanket wrapped around her toes, lapping at the rolled-up cuffs of her too long black jeans. She turned the page of the book in front of her, swept up in the mystery. She grabbed another cracker from one of the many cups strewn across the room, the cold ceramic clinking against her long fingernails. Next to her head lay a pair of big green boots, the leather still shiny, but riddled with scratches from many former accidents. Not major ones, just the stumbles and trips she seemed to be so adept at. On her other side a small white table, with drawers packed with books and a top coated in random things. From stylus pens to chapstick, everything was up there. The worn black carpet provided a good contrast to the warm yellow walls and slightly off-white ceiling with that one spider web in the corner that always seemed to be there.

Exploding Moments - Memories with character (pt 2) Off on the other side of the room was a large black dresser, with eight drawers overflowing with clothes, the top such a jungle of mess that even she didn’t quite know what was under there. Blocking the closet were two shoeboxes, too small for the amount of things put in them. Hoodies, sports shoes, that fleecy vest she really liked, the absolutely amazing red flannel jacket that she found at a secondhand store, and those awesome Vans with Princess Peach from Super Mario on them… the box was truly a treasure trove of jackets and footwear. Her eyes widened as the detectives raced towards the truth. No! She thought It couldn’t possibly be- Her thoughts were cut off as a sound pierced through the loud music in her ears, a sound like shattering glass, like a window being broken through… She screamed. Pulling the black earbuds out of her ears, she leapt to her feet and faced up to the window she was so sure was being broken into… And saw her brother standing there, laughing his head off, a water gun in hand. She was seeing red, a pounding in her ears. “COLM YOU LITTLE IDIOT! YOU’RE GONNA REGRET THIS!” She roared, grabbing a cup from the ground. The carpet burned against her feet as she sped out of her room and into the bathroom next door. The cool water spilled from the old tap into the cup and onto her hands. He was most definitely going to regret that decision.

Surrealist Writing The glare of the sun burned into the back of my head as I stepped towards the staircase. Zack stood behind me, giving me goofy thumbs up from behind a protective shield. Wind whooshed around my head, nearly lifting me off my feet. My hair did a frenzied dance in front of my eyes, dark roots showing through the blonde strands. I stepped out onto the first step, dust clouds coating my shining black boots. As I was about to start climbing the giant stairs, Zack jumped suddenly and threw the protective door open. “What are you doing?!” I cried, the wind blowing my words away. He rushed up to me, wobbling as the wind tried to force him back. He placed a black umbrella into my hand. “I almost forgot! Just in case you encounter a freak rainstorm made of fire or something.” He ran back behind the shield, bearing a strong resemblance to the Mad Hatter: his curly, ginger hair flying around green goggles, a mad grin on his face. He gestured for me to continue climbing the large stone stairs. I rolled my eyes, turning to face the next stair. Huge clouds of dust covered me as I clambered up to the top, where a menacing black door, that appeared to be made of water, stood. I reached up with dust-covered fingers and pressed the silver knocker. It made a surprisingly loud crash as it banged against the door, seeing small fish fluttering away from the noise behind it. The door creaked as it opened, a tidal wave flying out and ensnaring me. The cool water washed the dust from my body, pulling me away from my dimension. No going back now, I thought.

Surrealist Writing (Continued) I fell through layers of fish and seaweed, of sharks and coral. The sparkling waves smashed against my face, and trails of kelp ensnared themselves around the thick wooden handle of Zack’s umbrella. I went spinning down through the crystal waters, raising the umbrella over my head to slow my descent. All I could see was the never ending ocean, my ears full of that strange, far-away underwater sound. Suddenly, as quickly as I had entered the ocean, I fell right out the bottom of it, falling right through the sky. My hair streamed water into my eyes, my shoes splashing droplets into the air. The wind was so strong that I accidentally let go of the umbrella. I watched it float away into the abyss that was the sky, the ocean only a tiny speck above me. I tumbled towards the ground, flying through the smoky grey clouds, reaching hopelessly for the door that was so far out of reach.

Surrealist Writing (Continued) I fell through layers of fish and seaweed, of sharks and coral. The sparkling waves smashed against my face, and trails of kelp ensnared themselves around the thick wooden handle of Zack’s umbrella. I went spinning down through the crystal waters, raising the umbrella over my head to slow my descent. All I could see was the never ending ocean, my ears full of that strange, far-away underwater sound. Suddenly, as quickly as I had entered the ocean, I fell right out the bottom of it, falling right through the sky. My hair streamed water into my eyes, my shoes splashing droplets into the air. The wind was so strong that I accidentally let go of the umbrella. I watched it float away into the abyss that was the sky, the ocean only a tiny speck above me. I tumbled towards the ground, flying through the smoky grey clouds, reaching hopelessly for the door that was so far out of reach.

I see, I remember, I imagine I see frost-covered leaves, a white carpet covering the green grass. Succulents sit in plastic pots, the hail covering their roots. Little pink seedlings pop up from the cold blanket, rising over the edge of the pot into the cool morning air. The slippery wooden planks of the deck are coated in hailstones, a cold, crunchy pathway to the driveway. The icy stones melt slowly into the peeling blue paint of the fence, leaving dark spots on the pale wood. I remember standing on the doorstep, icy winds blowing in my face while my brother raced across the sea of hailstones barefoot. I shivered through my puffer jacket, fiddling with my keys. “Get back inside!” I yelled at my brother. “Or I’ll lock you out!” He glared and stomped back inside. “You wouldn’t’ve.” I clicked the key into the lock, pulling my hat lower over my ears. I crunched my way across the deck, my breath appearing in clouds before me. I imagine that the hailstones are bubble wrap, and that I was popping all the little air pockets by stepping on them. I pretended that I was climbing a ginormous bubble wrap mountain, and that the sharp winds blowing at my face were trying to push me back to the ground. Lifting my backpack onto my shoulders, I resumed my climb, up the freezing concrete mountain towards my destination, the mystical footpath.