Creative writing: Penny

Penny was brown. Well, not physically brown, but she practically dribbled warm caramel onto whatever surface she had touched. Which is ironic, because it seemed as though she was completely untouched, with only a few pale freckles dotted across her snow like skin. She had the eyes of a Doe, deep as an abyss, yet when you looked close enough they seemed to soften, with both compassion and kindness melting in her irises. The delicate, yet angular,  tortoiseshell frames were nothing more than protection. Yes, protection from UV rays and poor eye sight, but also a barrier, if anything dared come close enough to try and spoil her precious peepers. Her lips were an exceptions to the abundance of her toasted characteristics. While the rest of her seemed in such familiar correspondence with Autumn, Summer epitomised her lips. Children with puffed, rosy cheeks admiring a  bright magenta sunset would seem grey, in comparison to her cushioned, pillowed lips. Penny’s lips…

Black was a colour too harsh to describe Penny… But take this as a warning from me to you. If you have any intention of getting ‘One Up’ over her, think again. She doesn’t need black. It’s like when you’ve misbehaved as a child, you know you’re in an infinite amount of trouble when your parents don’t shout, but rather whisper your eternal punishment, leaving every hair on your body erect and surrounded by little bumps. Brown to me, in the past, had been painful. It can sting.  For example, the rustic axe handle that had been swung, only to be met my the bridge of my nose and a pair or watering eyes. Or the tea coloured envelop containing my awful grades which I had so dreaded giving to my parents… But most of all, the dark mahogany door that had been slammed, after the words “never come back” had been expelled into the air. Brown could definitely sting…

Penny was good to me. Kind. She took me in when I had nowhere to go, and used her sticky caramel to mend my shattered, obliterated ticker. Funnily enough, it was that which had killed her. The brown, the loneliness, me…  All of it. I think she gave up too much of her own heart, trying to plump  up up mine. That’s what made it so easy for the rigid rope to squeeze the remaining life out of hers… As Autumn moves to Winter, life moves to death. It’s been a week. Maybe four… But either way, all I have now is my promise to Penny. I’m going to do it. I have to do it.

For Penny.

I’m going to kill her son.


Yay! I had such fun writing this! I thought of the idea yesterday, and I thought I should practise! Writing a book is such an aspiration of mine, I’d love to. And also I’m taking English Lit right now and I don’t think you can ever have too much creative writing. Anyway, while this is just a first draft, I’d love to have ANY constructive criticism anyone has for me. Thanks for reading.

Holly

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