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The Meeting - creative writing.

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The meeting ?Sophie, go to bed now you have school in the morning.? ?Ok mum I?m going,? I replied. I climbed the steep stairs up to my room on the top floor of our tall sub-urban house, and reached my bedroom. I opened the door and sighed. I knew I needed to go to sleep, but every single night; the same dream. Every night I would get into my warm cozy bed, go to sleep and then it would start. At first, it would be alright. I would be just in the car with my mum, dad and sister driving up and up a big, long narrow hill full of pine trees, a warm Christmassy smell. The road twined round and round, up and down. ...read more.


?Sophie, are you in bed yet? Lights off, now!!? mum shouted up the stairs. I knew what was coming. And every night, I see that same little fox that darts past me like it knows what?s going to happen. Like its part of it. i get out of the car to check if the tyres been punctured, but again, every night, its not. I check every tyre carefully, but no, its not that. ?It must be broken down mum?, I call to her. I get into my pink pajamas and climb into bed, and tell myself, like I do every night that it wont happen again. A deep down feeling tells me different though. I switch off my light and close my eyes. ...read more.


Then I wake up. And that?s it. Every night, im faced with death, and I always wake myself up in time. I know no one would believe me if I tell them, so I just keep it to myself. The thought of the dream sends a shiver down my spine. I push it to the side and convince myself I won?t dream it again. I fall asleep quickly on my warm cozy bed, and then I start to dream. ?BANGBANGBANG? I hear, and then, for the first time ever, the gunman points the revolver at me. I have always wondered what its like to be looking down the barrel of a gun. Now I know. I never woke up from that dream. That next morning my parents found me lying in my bed with a gunshot wound in my head. I was dead. I had met death. 586 words ...read more.

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