Creative writing paper... don't worry about reading it.. i just need to work on it at home.
The cold air biting at my cheeks made them the shade of cotton candy. The night seemed abnormally quiet, with the moons brightness comparable to streetlights. Walking through the Woodstock Square I realized that I had nowhere that I had to be for hours. The darkness of ten o’clock suddenly became cold and uninviting.
I need to find somewhere warm where I can wait around awhile before I have to go home. I thought to myself. Up ahead I noticed the welcoming glow strewn about by the marquee lights of the movie theatre. Now that I am employed there, it’s like a second home to me. I quickened my pace, and began trudging onwards through the slush and mud mixture underneath my feet.
After just a moment of walking, loud sirens began whaling and red and white lights danced across my face. I stood in awe as an ambulance pulled to a screeching halt in front of the theatre. Two paramedics rushed out of the back, and dragged a stretcher along behind them. My breathing became heavy and I felt a slow panic come over me.
What if one of my friends is hurt? What if there was a fire in one of the theatres? I attempted to run as quickly as I could towards the building, however my feet felt as if they had cement blocks tied to them. This resulted in more of a sluggish jog. When I finally stepped inside, I hurriedly glanced around to see if I could figure out what was going on. I saw a little boy on a stool, coloring with mostly broken crayons, and a police officer speaking kindly to him.
“What is going on? Is everybody okay? Can I do anything to help?” I asked my friend, and employee Robyn.
“There is a woman in theatre two that has passed out and we can’t seem to wake her up. Apparently she’s pretty inebriated. She reeks of alcohol and has an empty vodka bottle in the cup holder to her right. This little boy was with her. He was the one that came out and informed us about what was going on. She’s not his mom, or step mom. He keeps calling her his friend.” She replied in a half whisper.
I slowly approached the little boy, being cautious not to startle him. He had dark, shaggy hair, and olive skin. He looked to be about seven years of age, and extremely thin. His little jeans had a rather large hole in the left knee, and his shirt had what appeared to be spaghetti stains on the right sleeve and down the chest.
“Hi! My name’s Heather, what’s yours?” I did my best imitation of myself ten years ago. I didn’t want to seem threatening, or overbearing.
“Calson”, he stated very matter-of-factly.
“What’re you drawing? It looks like some kind of monster.” I just wanted to relate to him, maybe make him feel a little more at ease.
“Yeah, it’s Godzilla. He’s real big. He’s fighting King Kong, but of course Godzilla is going to win, he always wins.” Calson would not look me in the eyes. In fact, he would not even look up from his paper.
At this point, my manager Oz called me over to ask what the boys name was. Apparently, I was the only one who could get Calson to talk. I quietly told Oz all of the information that I could get out of the kid, which wasn’t very much. He mentioned to me that he had seen a man chatting with the woman and Calson moments before their movie had started. We deduced that maybe this strange man knew more about the woman’s, or Calson’s background, and decided to find him.
When we approached where the man was seated, we could smell hard liquor and vomit. Oz quietly tapped the man on his left shoulder and escorted him out of the theatre.
I need to find somewhere warm where I can wait around awhile before I have to go home. I thought to myself. Up ahead I noticed the welcoming glow strewn about by the marquee lights of the movie theatre. Now that I am employed there, it’s like a second home to me. I quickened my pace, and began trudging onwards through the slush and mud mixture underneath my feet.
After just a moment of walking, loud sirens began whaling and red and white lights danced across my face. I stood in awe as an ambulance pulled to a screeching halt in front of the theatre. Two paramedics rushed out of the back, and dragged a stretcher along behind them. My breathing became heavy and I felt a slow panic come over me.
What if one of my friends is hurt? What if there was a fire in one of the theatres? I attempted to run as quickly as I could towards the building, however my feet felt as if they had cement blocks tied to them. This resulted in more of a sluggish jog. When I finally stepped inside, I hurriedly glanced around to see if I could figure out what was going on. I saw a little boy on a stool, coloring with mostly broken crayons, and a police officer speaking kindly to him.
“What is going on? Is everybody okay? Can I do anything to help?” I asked my friend, and employee Robyn.
“There is a woman in theatre two that has passed out and we can’t seem to wake her up. Apparently she’s pretty inebriated. She reeks of alcohol and has an empty vodka bottle in the cup holder to her right. This little boy was with her. He was the one that came out and informed us about what was going on. She’s not his mom, or step mom. He keeps calling her his friend.” She replied in a half whisper.
I slowly approached the little boy, being cautious not to startle him. He had dark, shaggy hair, and olive skin. He looked to be about seven years of age, and extremely thin. His little jeans had a rather large hole in the left knee, and his shirt had what appeared to be spaghetti stains on the right sleeve and down the chest.
“Hi! My name’s Heather, what’s yours?” I did my best imitation of myself ten years ago. I didn’t want to seem threatening, or overbearing.
“Calson”, he stated very matter-of-factly.
“What’re you drawing? It looks like some kind of monster.” I just wanted to relate to him, maybe make him feel a little more at ease.
“Yeah, it’s Godzilla. He’s real big. He’s fighting King Kong, but of course Godzilla is going to win, he always wins.” Calson would not look me in the eyes. In fact, he would not even look up from his paper.
At this point, my manager Oz called me over to ask what the boys name was. Apparently, I was the only one who could get Calson to talk. I quietly told Oz all of the information that I could get out of the kid, which wasn’t very much. He mentioned to me that he had seen a man chatting with the woman and Calson moments before their movie had started. We deduced that maybe this strange man knew more about the woman’s, or Calson’s background, and decided to find him.
When we approached where the man was seated, we could smell hard liquor and vomit. Oz quietly tapped the man on his left shoulder and escorted him out of the theatre.