Good Example Of Creative Writing On Escape

The moon rises high in the sky, its silvery light creating an eerier aura, as the screams of a woman echoes through the landscape. The creature turns its head attracted by the sounds of pain and fear as it rips through the veil between the living and dead. “The night of Samhain,” it thinks, “the perfect night for escape.” As the time when the veil between the living and dead is the thinnest, Samhain is the time signally the end of lightness and the beginning of darkness. Exhausted creature slides down to the Earth, the first time it had been there in centuries. Lying there for a few moments, the creature crawls forward, gathering the last of its strength to change form. A cloud of sulfuric smoke envelopes the creature, transforming it into a more humanoid-like form. “Much better,” it hisses to itself, cracking its neck and stretching its new limbs. “Now it is time to rid myself of this burden and escape for good,” it speaks to itself as it follows the sounds.
The creature makes its way through the darkness towards a beacon of light over the hill. “Out of the darkness and towards the light,” it chants. “Out of the darkness and towards the light.” “The light, the light,” it giggles, tightening its gnarled fingers on the windowsill, swaying slightly in time with its chant. “Come along, little one, out of the darkness and into the light,” the creature continues giggling again, as it watches the child entering the world. “I’m free, I’m free.” “Enjoy your life, child of the dark, child of the night,” it whispered as its black aura drifted from its body shifting through the air and into the lungs of the baby, its first breath being a curse.
The time passed and the boy was getting stronger and stronger. In their turn, his parents were getting more and more worried about their son, as he did not act like a normal child. One day when he was eight, Cyn woke up, his feet bare and clad only in the thin nightshirt he had worn to bed. Trembling, he realizes that he has no idea where he is or how he got there. The marsh grass dances in the wind nearly as tall as he is. Cyn frantically calls out, but receives no answer apart from the call of an owl echoing through the night air.
Brushing back his long tangled hair, he struggles to maintain his sense of sanity, unaware of how an eight-year-old boy such as himself could manage to get so lost. He briefly wonders if his parents are worried, but quickly dismisses the idea, figuring they would most likely be pleased if he never returned. Part of him considers the idea, feeling as if disappearing into the swamp and never returning would be much simpler than returning home, where beating most certainly awaited him. His thin shoulders tremble because of the cool night air and the feeling of dread that rose within him.
Cyn tries to get his bearings despite the film of sleep that still clouded his eyes, and an overwhelming feeling of shame washing through his body. “What is wrong with me,” he mutters half aloud. Wading through the cold mud, he searches for any sign of recognition, before tripping over an old rusty fish trap half buried in the mud. The sight of the trap sparked something within his mind as he remembered coming here with his father once, the place where old men came to catch some of the few unlucky fish they lived within the murky swamp. Sighing in relief, Cyn realizes he is not that far from home after all only a few miles back to the small cabin he had grown up in.
Reluctantly Cyn trudges through the swamp back towards home wondering why he bothered. Mother and father would be so angry. Part of him didn’t blame them, he had no idea why he did these things. Part of him felt they were just in their beatings and exorcisms. Repeatedly they had tried to rid him of some curse that apparently he had. At first, Cyn did not realize what they spoke of; he could not tell that he acted any differently from any other child he had met in his sheltered eight years. But then most children’s parents didn’t cower in fear every time their child approached, that much he knew.
Cyn could see their fear of him growing with each and every year. He first recognized their concern when a trail of doctors appeared at their door, each poking and prodding young Cyn, each coming to a different conclusion. Treatments ranging from drugging Cyn into oblivion to stating that he would outgrow his outbursts. Cyn, even at such a young age recognized these ideas as bunk. After the doctors failed to diagnose young Cyn, they were followed by a trail of priests, vicars, and even (to Cyn’s amusement) a Voodoo priestess. It was here that Cyn first recognized the look of fear within their eyes. He endured their readings and exorcisms, not understanding why, but knowing that each time his parents looked hopefully. He would do anything to receive that look, even if it meant being doused in smelly herbs or being painted in blood.
Despite the occasional glimmer of hope, it was clear to Cyn that his relationship with his parents deteriorated more and more through the passage of time. As the doctors and priests eventually stopped coming, his parents began to resort to other means of control. The beatings and arguing got more frequent and violent, the restraints more severe. All the while Cyn having no idea why other than that it was his fault.
“It’s all my fault,” Cyn mutters as the cabin comes into view. Drawn to the light, Cyn makes his way home, despite the frogs and night creatures beckoning him back to the swamp. “Out of the darkness and to the light,” they seemed to sing.
After a couple of years since that incident, Cyn awoke with a start, for once relieved that he was in his own bed. As he sits up rubbing his eyes, he feels something wet and sticky smear on his face. Wiping his hand on his nightclothes, he is horrified to feel them wet and plastered to his skinny frame. Cyn attempts to stand to the light of the lantern, but nearly trips, forgetting about the chain around his ankle, the one that kept him bound to his bed. The cold steel bites into his ankle as he crashes to the floor. He pushes himself onto his knees, feeling about for the lantern, desperate to escape the darkness of the cabin. Frantically, he searches his hands gazing over the rough floors, thinking the lantern must have fallen from its usual spot on the table near his bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he finally locates a glimmer of light. “It must be the lantern,” he thinks, reaching towards it, knowing it is close to going out.
Cyn whimpers as his hand grasps something slick and wet, panic growing greater and greater. Not knowing what else to do, he throws all his weight against the chain causing the bed to scoot a few inches. Cyn reaches farther, before his hand finally closes around the warm glass globe of the lantern. A tear running down his cheek, and his sobs getting louder, Cyn fumbles with the wick finally getting it burn brighter illuminating the small cabin. What Cyn saw that night forever changed him; for once, he understood why his parents called him a monster. That was the reason why he had to move to the asylum, which became his home for many years after.
Being there, Cyn paces up and down the tiny windowless room. “Back and forth,” he mutters to himself trying to satisfy his boredom. Time seemed to pass so slowly here, Cyn could no longer remember how much time passed since the “incident” that left him here, only that it seemed like an eternity of misery and darkness. Sighing, he pinched himself trying to force himself to stay awake, not even able to take comfort from his own sleep. Cyn was unsure what was worse, being awake and reliving every moment of that week the week he spent soaked in the blood of his parents still chained to the bed.
The week he watched their bodies transform from the image of his parents to rotting corpses, their faces frozen in terror. The glinting of the butcher knife he had found twisted within his covers. Then finally the darkness as the nights came and went, Cyn alone, hungry and scared determined to never sleep again even if it killed him. It was on the fifth day that a passing neighbor noticed the cries of the goat who was left unattended in its enclosure. Cyn vaguely remembers the look on the man’s face as he entered the cabin, calling out his father’s name, the man quickly stumbling back outside, and the sound of the man emptying the contents of his stomach in the yard. The wagon that came and got him, its squeaky wheels and rattling bars. The asylum dark and menacing, screams echoing through the hallway. Cyn remembered it all, as much as he wanted to forget it for even an hour or two, the unknown of the dream realm was an even scarier possibility.
Years were passing by in the asylum, but one day something unexpected happened – he heard a girl outside his room. “You're mad! How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice. "You must be," said the Cat, or you wouldn't have come here.” Cyn leaned against the solid door of his room, listening, his arms around his knees, watching out the narrow slot that was his only access to the world outside the room. He struggled to get closer, his body yearning to hear more of the honey-like voice that floated down the hall, despite knowing it was all but impossible. A shrill shriek jolts Cyn out of his own thoughts, a fellow patient breaking the rare moment of silence in the psych ward. Jumping at the sound, he hits his head on the door, feeling stupid as he rubs it, already feeling a knot rising on his scalp.
“Are you OK?” asks the honeyed voice that had only moments ago been reading in the hallway, a pair of bright blue eyes suddenly eye-level with him through the slot. Startled Cyn can’t help but jump again. “Did you hurt yourself,” the girl queries. “Yes, I mean no,” he stammers out hoarsely, unused to being addressed and unsure of what question he was supposed to answer.
The girl laughs, a sound Cyn had not heard in a long time. “Sorry I didn’t know anyone was at this end of the hall. Hope my reading didn’t disturb you.” “My father works here, but I do get so tired of being stuck in his office all evening,” she explains, her eyes warm and caring through the narrow frame of the slot. “I will find somewhere else to read,” she promises.
Cyn shakes his head, burying his face in his knees, hiding behind his long dark curtain of hair, very much hoping she wouldn’t go, but too shy to say anything. “It’s OK,” she murmurs. “My name is Alyss. You know like the girl in the book,” she explains gently. “My mother named me after Alice from Alice in Wonderland,” she says, leaning to look closer through the slot, her blue eyes lighting up.
For many days after, every day, Alyss came to his hallway, sitting outside it, reading to Cyn. He found himself waiting the entire day just for the few precious moments that he could escape within the stories of her books. They had soon discovered they were the same age, Alyss being glad to make conversation even if Cyn rarely replied. Every day Alyss came and saved him from his darkness.
As the lights in the Asylum began to dim, Cyn waited for Alyss. Today there was no exception, Cyn barely able to contain his excitement as he hears her familiar footsteps in the hallway. He watches out the slot expectantly as she grins flashing him the cover of “Treasure Island” before sitting on the other side of the door. She opens the book and begins to read, before stopping mid-sentence, closing the book once more. “Why are you here, Cyn,” she asks quietly.
On the other side of the door, Cyn stiffens as Alyss asks the very question he had been avoiding. He stays silent, hoping that if he does, she will go back to reading; instead, the bright blue orbs of her eyes hover behind the slot. “Please,” she asks?
Cyn sits silent for a moment before finally relenting. “Because I am a dream walker,” he says quietly, partially hoping she would not hear him, shame clouding his voice. “A dream walker? What is that,” she asks. Cyn leans closer to the slot, his own dark eyes meeting hers. “It’s kind of like a monster.” To his surprise, she does not pull away. “Um like when I sleep it is like I go somewhere else,” he tries to explain. “It’s dark there, and twisted, and scary.” Alyss listens wide-eyed yet with an expression filled with concern, not fear, giving him the confidence to go on.
“Sometimes I dream of things that really happen. It is like being in a different world, were the light does not exist, just darkness. They kept getting worse until they brought me here.” “I dreamed there were monsters in the dark keeping me from the light. I just wanted to see” he says remembering the deaths of his parents and the overturned lantern as he forces back tears. “I try to stay awake, but after a while I just cant.”
Alyss reaches through the slot her fingertips brushing Cyn’s reassuringly. “I am sure one day you will learn to control the darkness,” she promises. Before picking up the book again, the secret passed between them once again buried, as she read to him.
Another day, Cyn is roused from his sleep by a slamming door. A sound not that uncommon in the asylum, where loud noises and screams became part of the atmosphere. He sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. As he stands, he feels something besides the cold concrete floor under his foot. For a moment he dreads looking down knowing that he had nothing in his cell before he went to sleep. Taking a deep breath, facing his fear he looks down.
Cyn sinks to the floor, sitting cross-legged, the book in his lap. Slowly, he traces his fingers along the title “Alice in Wonderland”. He opens it and finds it blank inside much to his annoyance. Angrily he flips through the blank pages before throwing the book at the wall. It hits the wall with a solid thump, falling open on the floor to the last page. It reads, “You would have to be half mad to dream me up.”
Puzzled Cyn studies the phrase over and over, recognizing it from Alyss’ reading. However the question remained, what did it mean and how did the book get there? The only plausible explanation was that he had dreamed it into being. Could he really do that? Bring a dream into reality?
At first, Cyn decided not to pay much attention to the incident with a book. Still, it was really hard not to think about it, as it was really weird and just impossible in the conditions where he lived. He knew that Alyss could not pass the book to him, but he remembered how much he wanted to see the book and to hold it in his hands when he heard the story from the girl. This story was one of the few he had heard in years, which is why it was so appealing and interesting for him.
There came a moment when he could not wonder any longer. He knew that he had to do something with it not to lose his mind completely. He decided to try materializing some new things he wanted very much and in this way see, whether he could really do it. He had a lot of time for practice, as his day was always the same. He decided to concentrate on some of his wishes and think about it for several hours a day. At first, he made a decision to which something harmless, but impossible to get in the asylum. He remembered a beautiful flower that he once saw in the garden – red, beautiful and so sweet. He liked the flower a lot, which is why it was not too hard to concentrate on it and bring its image to him. It took him just a week to wake up with this exact flower in his hand.
He practiced this skill again and again, trying to understand how it works. He saw that he could do not only terrible things, but some good ones as well. It gave him hope and understanding of what he has to do in the future. He understood that he could really fight the darkness within him. One day he decided that he was ready to move on. The next morning, Cyn opened his hand with a silver key cold in his palm, glinting despite the dimly lit room. “It’s real, it’s really here,” he murmurs to himself. Stiff, and still groggy from sleep, Cyn stands padding barefoot to the door. He pushes back a lock of his long, tangled hair trying to determine the best course of action to take from here. With a deep breath, he kneels near the door, running his skinny arm out the slot in it. The same slot where he receives food twice a day and his only window to the outside world. Grimacing from the pressure placed on his arm, he continues to twist upwards towards the lock. So close Palming the key, he prays silently that he does not drop it as he forces his arm a bit further through the narrow slot. Cyn sighs with relief as his fingers finally touch the outline of the keyhole. Feeling like a fumbling idiot, Cyn finally forces the key into the hole, hearing a dull clink as the tumbler releases and the door swings open. For the first time ever, he was free to live his own life.
Cyn looks at himself in the mirror, his dark angular features more pronounced than he had remembered him, his eyes dark and his hair long. Certainly not a monster, almost handsome in fact. Still he knew the monster was inside him, the creature that had made him what the monster didn’t want to be the dream walker. With a sigh, he turned away from the mirror, fingering the silver key hanging around his neck as a means of comfort, the very key he had dreamed, the key that led him out of darkness. “I will find the light,” he promises to himself.
Totally new life started for him. After so many years of being away from society and people, Cyn had to learn a lot about people. At first, he was afraid to speak with people and to see him. He thought that they would be afraid of him and would run away from him. But after he manage to cope with the monster inside, he understood that he was ready to show to the world. He thought that if he succeeded to do it, he was strong enough to repair the damage that he made in this world. He knew that he should do a lot to make up for the loss of his parents. His gift gave him a world of possibilities and the thoughts about the good that he could do made him more confident in his wonders if he should live or die. He made a choice for the first variant, because he knew he was good and that he could be good from then on. He had to use this chance and help those who were in real need of his help.
Soon he understood how to use his force for good. He became confident that his good part was getting stronger with every good deed and it made his live further, and even find his own happiness. Some part of his was not sure that he made enough to be happy. Still, he knew that while he is alive, he has time to do something good. It gave him hope and it gave him force. Moreover, it gave him Alyss, who fell in love with Cyn and stood beside him since he became free from the monster. She became another strong reason for him to want to live further. Together they could do even more, than separately, and it meant so much for Cyn.