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Creative Writing - Never, when the cards are down, go to the park south of Critchdale.

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Creative Writing Coursework Never, when the cards are down, go to the park south of Critchdale. The lights, for one, are always low casting shadow upon shadow onto the ground, which feels as though with every step you are getting closer and closer, to the end. The freshly cut grass pushes the aroma of fertiliser and everything beneath your feet up your nostrils. The air in the park south of Critchdale is dry like nothing you have ever experienced before. Your throat goes dry like a barren desert, with just one gulp of air. It will be just one gulp of air. The path is surrounded with large, dated oak tress. They make you feel as though you have hundreds of thousands of eyes on you. Following. Following. Waiting. Waiting. For you to fall. There is a deathly silence all around. The sound from all around seems to be trapped outside the park south of Critchdale. Trapped, by an invisible sound barrier like two bouncers outside a club down a dark, dark alley. Derek did not care about all these things. He had to do it. He knew that it was all in his head, but what was worrying him, had nothing to do with how he was feeling about the park south of Critchdale. ...read more.


Derek was one of those few. Unlike the rest of the times, there was one light on in the house. It could be vaguely made out through, the dust and creeping plants that covered the window. This was odd, Derek was one hundred percent sure that no lights had ever been turned on in the house except for the room. The room where everything happened. It was a room that was neither large nor small, square nor round. It was neither long nor short, in fact, it was somewhat of a legend. Some believed that it did not even exist. However, Derek knew differently. He was the only person that had ever been into the room and walked out again without a scratch on his body, let alone his life. There was an eerie feel about the Death house. Some would say, 'obviously' to that, but then they did not really know why it was so. It was as though the plot of land upon which the house was built those many years ago, was a place of death even before they arrived. It was as though something or someone had been there before any of this even started and he was just carrying on the tradition. This house, was a place of evil. From the dawn of time, wrong doings had been going on here. ...read more.


Derek waited for a moment and then administered the antidote. This however, did not stop the pain just the end product, death. He continued this practice until he was satisfied that Robert was at breaking point, "Do you want to die?" Derek asked Robert, "Yes, yes, kill me now!" With that Derek picked up his trusty scalpel and slit his jugular, letting him slowly bleed to death. In the instant that he died, in walked McKinley, "You done well Derek. I have to admit, I didn't fink you would do it. I thought you were gonna cop out at the last minute, but you didn't. You proved to me tonight that I can trust you. However, here's the question, can you trust me?" Derek contemplated his answer to the question, but as he was about to reply McKinley said insanely, "The answer to that question, is of course no, you can't trust me, no one can trust me. You know why? 'Cos I'm unpredictable no one knows what I'm thinking!" Almost instantly Derek felt the pain, and the feeling that he was slowly loosing something very important to his existence. Which of course he was: blood. He looked down and saw where the bullet had penetrated his body. The final words Derek heard were, "I always knew I was better than you Derek. I never actually told you to kill him, you think too much! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!!!" Richard Butt 1 ...read more.

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