Progressive U Creative Writing

“Alright Aubrey, I have this afternoon off of work, do you want to go get your license?” Those words, spoken so nonchalantly by my dad, were words I’d been waiting five months to hear.

All hidden thoughts surface when I am here. As I fade out and fade in, I realize what I've done wrong, what I should be doing, and what I should have done. I long to return here and long to remain.

I woke up this morning blessed with a brand new day. A friend and coworker of mine is leaving her job. She has no idea what she is going to do with herself now.

Rocks called gold are nothing but soul searching halflings of a world forgotten. The no good warrants sing nothing but the cheerful melody of a time long gone.

Waves that beat on the shore don't touch the stricken face of a small child, but the hourly cry of the eagle off the cliff of the mountains can strangle the soul of even the oldest and wisest of men.

The sound of the swirling water as it laps against the rocky shore of the lake is like to the sound my weeping would make had I a choice. It is almost the constant sound of my life.

I am always interested in the small prophets that preach on the D train. How do they choose which car they enter? Do they look at its occupants and judge them based on who needs saving the most?

She couldn't believe she heard him correctly. "What?", she asked.

"The trash needs to go out," she thought. There were a lot of things needing doing, come to think of it.

As I sit in front of this key laidened machine gently pressing the square , spring, operated letters, I have racing thoughts of how beautiful the after life really must be with it's rolling pastures o