December 8, 1981

This is the first of my writing entries from... 11th grade. Had to calculate on my fingers there for a minute. Funny thing is, I don't even remember taking a creative writing class, but it seems that I did. I got some pretty good grades on most of the stuff, but in my opinion the poetry is pretty bad. I've never read much poetry, and I didn't craft very good poetry either. I may post a couple. But most of the stuff will be other assignments. This one appears to be a character sketch...

Grade: 16-15 (cool, an extra point!)


Glancing over her shoulder, Patsy Paranoia spotted a man rounding the corner from which she had just come. He was following her, and he had been for the last three blocks. She just knew it. She pulled on the hood of her grey wool coat and quickened her pace. As she got to the corner and waited for the light to change, her grey eyes darted quickly in every direction. All those people - every single one was looking at her. Patsy looked down to see if something was wrong with her clothing. Her grey loafers looked fine, and she couldn't find a wrinkle in her grey cotton dress. She pulled her pocket-mirror out of her grey leather purse. She looked, only to find that her face was slightly paler than usual, and a few strands of her mousy brown hair were sticking out from under her hood. It seemed like forever before the light turned green. She hurriedly crossed the street. Only one block left, but she still had that dreadful alley to pass. She looked behind her once again and the man was gone. Good. But yards away - a gun! There was somebody in the alley with a gun. She began to run. Patsy was sure she could hear footsteps running after her as she reached the steps leading to the door of her apartment building. She prayed nobody would reach up through the steps and grab her feet - please, not today. Finally, she was inside the building, and running towards the stairs to her second story flat. She was too scared to look behind her, so she just kept running up, up the steps and down the hall towards her flat. She fumbled through her purse, trying to find her key. She just knew her pursuer was almost to the top of the steps. At last she found her key, opened the door, and slammed it behind her. She bolted the lock quickly and breathed a sigh of relief. The only sound she could hear was the sound of her heart pumping in her chest. Patsy had made it home safely once again, and nobody had gotten her this time.