Stressed Out During the Spring (2016)Open Campus Creative WritingBy: Sarah Abbas

Table of Contents

Page 1: Table of ContentsPage 2: Authors ForwardPage 3-5: Personal Narrative Person of SignificancePage 6: Fiction Piece Reflections Beyond MigrainesPage 7: Microfiction & Twit FictionPortrait of Suicide GrowthRoom 04Page 8-9: Formal Poetry- Shakespearean Sonnet Eternal Sleep- Triolet Conquering the World- Haikus 1,2,3- Skeletonic Dreams are a Fright Page 10-12: Free Verse Poetry- Imagist Poem Enlightenment of the Earth- Mental Image Poem Thought process- Metaphor Poem Canvas of the Sky- Free Verse Allergy SeasonAuthors Notes 13-17

*Credit to book cover
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As an Open Campus Creative Writing student I learned about many techniques and skills needed for success in the creative writing world. I would like to thank my two English teachers: Miss Hayes, and Mr. Hertzog for providing me with the lessons and the constructive criticism to better my work, as well as my positive-willed classmates. In this class one of the biggest techniques I had to learn was dealing with meter in poetry. A meter that I had to learn was iambic pentameter, for my Shakespearean sonnet Eternal Sleep. What I learned about a Shakespearean sonnets is that they consists of three quatrains and a couplet follow the rhyme scheme of: abab, cdcd, efef, gg in iambic pentameter. My poem coincides with the definition of a Shakespearean sonnet because I wrote my entire poem in iambic pentameter, shown in line 11 my n/EXT / lifes EN/dea/VORS / soon/TO / em/BARK /. I also follow the rhyme scheme given of abab, cdcd, efef, gg shown in lines 1 - 4. I laid my head and sought eternal sleep / In a silent vigil, ravens sat in mute / And there he was death stood ready to reap / Deaths hold was consuming and absolute Another skill I had to learn was the ability to show rather than telling a story. This technique was used in every unit we studied, whether it was a narrative, a poem, or a short story. Showing rather than telling intrigues the reader more than just stating he was starved and going insane. I used description in my story Portrait of Suicide in the lines He was losing what was left of his mind, as the dull knife of hunger resonated through his bones was accompanied by his usual migraines, which were amplified to an asylum-like level. Since a large majority of this class was poetry, I learned how to effectively use line breaks and punctuation of emphasis and flare in poetry. I used the semicolon frequently in writing haikus for a dramatic pause as seen in Haiku #2 Fear is the ocean; Fierce, tenacious, natural. One of the main points in poetry is being concise, which calls for short phrases. In my Mental Imagist poem Idea I split my sentences up into two lines Its a constant chase between me / and the idea that hides behind my face to create a smoother poetic flow.

My favorite piece of writing in my Open Campus Creative writing class was either my Shakespearean Sonnet - Eternal Sleep or my Triolet - Conquering The World. I enjoyed both these pieces for I prefer writing poetry, and I think adding a scheme and a meter makes a poem sound so much more sophisticated but at the same time like a song. I prefer poetry over regular writing because there is not as many rules and limitations grammatically speaking. A piece I struggled with the most was my microfiction piece - Portrait of Suicide. I submitted this piece of writing in late because I was stumped on how to write a descriptive story in very little words. I had to restart my piece over and over again to make it succinct, while also being descriptive. Even after I submitted it my first sentence was wonky, therefore I still need work on writing in brevity. Despite being a piece I struggled with, Im decently proud of it.

Due to this creative writing classes vigorous schedule and major assignments I not only became a more efficient writer, but I also learned a great deal about time management for future writings and upcoming college classes. Being a senior I will honestly say I got a little bit lazy, but I had to almost every day commit to this online class, more so than my physical classrooms. Another thing that this class has taught me was view the world as an writer. I liked observing things in detail before this class, but especially after the fiction units I found myself watching interactions more closely to understand naturalistic behavior for possible future stories.

Person of Significance Personal NarrativeHeya Pappy! I have your popsicle,I called out into the yard as I stumbled outside onto the brick patio with a banana popsicle in one hand. Pap was not in sight, but I could hear the purr of his lawn mower nearby the sounds of the birds singing joyfully on the clothing line. It was around three oclock, and the afternoon sun was belligerent, illuminating the neat rows of cut and patted down grass which had been mowed one too many times.I could tell it took a while for Pap to park his tractor in the shed, because my hand was beginning to get covered with the cold and sticky juices from the banana popsicle. When he came out of the shed, he was admiring his handiwork on his freshly groomed yard. Then he very slowly and cautiously shuffled his feet down the steep hill from the shed.One thing about my Pap is he is a humorously stubborn man. He refuses to use a cane even though he needs one. Pap is a tall man, but was unfortunate to inherit both short and skinny legs with a long body, which is personified by his big belly. After he was off of his lawn he began to lumber over to me, greeting me by ruffling my hair and cheerfully saying, Hey Sarie, I see ya got you a banana popsica.I could not help grinning at my Pap as I split the popsicle to separate the popsicle sticks into our halves. Before he took his half of the banana popsicle, he took the wooden popsicle stick that was already in his mouth out and placed it into his chest pocket of his white shirt. As kids my sister and I would always asked why he chewed on his popsicle sticks long after the popsicle was gone, and he would simply say I dunno, as he calmly rocked in his chair - the Pappy Seat. In response my Grandma a woman of many words, would quip loudly that he chews the popsicle stick because they helped him kick his cigarette addiction years ago. I think popsicle sticks are a cool replacement for cigarettes. Pap beckoned for me to follow him to the front porch, and I skipped after him until we got to the big wooden swing that hung in the car port. We sat down and enjoyed our banana popsicles in the refreshing shade away from the summer heat, chatting about our days.Our serene relaxation did not last long since my Grandma suddenly bursted out of the door and pointed her finger at Pap and I. She hollered, For heaven's sake Chuck! how many times do I have to tell you not to eat before supper! I turned away from her and stifled a giggle before she added, Im talkin to you too little Miss Sarah, your mama wouldnt approve of your snackin either. She sighed with exasperation before she abruptly turned on her heel and went back inside to finish dinner preparations, dropping the subject of our pre-dinner snacking that she animatedly disapproved of. Pap turned from the door to me, smacked his lips before saying, Shes a crazy woman, and we had a laugh before we went inside.The house had a delicious aroma of cooked chicken and mashed potatoes that made my mouth water the moment I walked in. The house was small, yet cozy with rooms compacted together in a manner that seemed as if there was little space for the walls that were in between. The kitchen was adjourned with many cabinets and counters, all coated with a pear green paint. In the midst of the green kitchen was my Grandma hunched over the counter, dicing cheese for our dinner salad. Upon hearing my entrance, she turned her head to look at me with pursed lips, before her eyes danced over to the plate cabinet. I understood her message for me to set the table without her having to speak, and I set the table accordingly for her. As I poured everyone water, my Grandma shrilly called Supper! around the house.One by one my family sat down at the table, and we all said grace before beginning to eat. As I dragged my fork along my mashed potatoes to create crop rows, my grandma said,For Christ's sake Sarah, quit playing with your food. She took a bite of chicken, and wiggled her eyebrows at me as she asked, Do you have a boyfriend?I sighed, and put down my fork before responding, No Gram, I dont want a boyfriend, plus my Pappers is the only boy Ill ever need.Well, you see, when I was a young girl I had eleven siblings, seven brothers and three sisters. My mum told me that if I was another boy she would've thrown me in the creek.I know Grandma, but you werent a boy, you were a baby girl instead.Yeah, but cause I was a girl anytime I was taken out by a boy, my mum would wait on the front porch for me to get home, and if I stayed in the car for more than a minute when I got home, my mom would come down and take me away, or one of my brothers would poke a gun at my date.I snorted, At least I know that my potential boyfriend wont get shot by one of my siblings, unlike you.My Gram laughed at my response, and turned to harass my sister about a boyfriend next. My Pap caught my eye and just shook his head and smacked his lips. I chuckled to myself. When dinner was finished, and the plates were scraped and licked, the sky had changed from vibrant blue to a silky violet night sky that was littered with twinkling stars.My family left the dinner table together to go enjoy the night time breeze that gently swayed the grass and the trees. My sister and I ran freely across the freshly mowed lawn trying to catch fireflies that danced amongst us. Once we caught a firefly, we would rush to the car port to show our family our Lightenin bugs, before we would free them again. When I got sleepy, I would crawl onto the swing with my Pap. We would look at the stars, slowly swinging together.

The Reflections Beyond Migraines - Fiction PieceGeorge held himself as he shuddered in pain under his fuzzy purple blanket in the dead of the night. Even with his eyes closed, the crosshatched blue aura burned into his his retinas from the pain behind his eyes. His prescribed migraine medication never provided relief, but through his garbled thoughts, he told himself that it was only a matter of time until the headache would cease. He laid in bed, drenched in sweat as he waited for the aura to fade from his mind and the searing pain in his temples to stop. By the time the sun began to make its appearance along the horizon, his mind suddenly introduced him to a sweet blank silence. It was a silence that flung him forward into an unknown dimension of time and space, leaving his physical body frozen in bed behind him.George fluttered his eyes slowly as sensation rushed back into his limbs. He was on his feet, and he was clad in a white sweeping cloak. He found it peculiar that there was nothing in sight. As far as his eyes could see his surroundings was a vast room that never ended. In a way he matched his environment for he was already a pale individual with porcelain white skin. The last aftermath of a migraine he had placed him in a benign wintry forest of evergreen trees that filled his lungs with the crisp cool air, intertwined with a rich herbal taste of the life-force of the world. It was the first time he had ever been placed in a world that only possessed light. He couldnt feel anything unlike when he was in the forest, but perhaps he was feeling everything and could not bring his mind to analyze it. He didnt know, but he was pacified. Minutes, days, years could have passed and he wouldnt be aware, nor did he care. Time didnt matter to him anymore. But among the light appeared a speck. He at first thought it was his vision becoming splotchy, but slowly the speck became bigger. He jutted his jaw in annoyance and began sprinting forward. He was pissed. The speck had caused a ripple in his peaceful pond, and its ebbs and flows were turning into waves. He ran with all of his might towards the impurity until he got close enough to see it was another person. This person was a woman who was cloaked in black sauntering towards him in black stilettos that loudly clicked and echoed through his world. He stopped in his tracks, panting and glaring at the women slowly approaching him. She eventually stood in front of him and stared at him with curiosity etched in her hazel eyes, and a twitch of a smile on her dark lips. George, shifted his weight, feeling uncomfortable by the frankness in her eyes as she looked him up and down. Her presence quickly dazed him, as quickly as her presence angered him, and he instinctively reached out to touch her cheek. When his fingers made contact with her skin, she crumpled and blew away into a black dust. The dust that was once the cloaked figure dispersed and manifested into the walls, flooring, and ceiling of his peaceful world of light and shattered it. He fell through the light and into a void of darkness, twisting, turning and spaghettifiying through the hauntingly dark void. He cried out, but no sound came out. He fell and fell, and fell, until he finally hit a hard surface many eons later. He lay on his back on his bed and sobbed for hours. His medicine never worked for him just right.

Microfiction Portrait of Suicide A week had passed since the starved artist had last had something to eat. The last thing he had eaten was the remaining scraps of his clothing. He was perturbed and aware that he needed to eat something substantial soon, before his inevitable death. He was losing what was left of his mind, as the dull knife of hunger resonated through his bones was accompanied by his usual migraines, which were amplified to an asylum-like level. The malnourishment overtook him to the point that he did not notice that he had begun to inadvertently twitch in sync to the echos of his agonizing hallucinatory migraines that hauntingly murmured, failure.. failure He whispered psychotically about being a twentieth-century Prometheus; that was trying to give humankind the gift of fire. A fire that burned in his art, but instead he was chained to the ravenous eagle that ate away at his brain. He picked up a new type of painting utensil and decided to paint a macabre portrait of red --the color of his lost sanity-- splattering the red beads of special paint chaotically onto the canvas before he collapsed. The excruciating pain in his mind and body came to an sharp halt and he managed to breath out his last chuckle, for he finally made an explosive art piece. He was free.GrowthWhen a star is born, a nebula collapses, and when a flower is beautiful, it once grew through dirt, so collapse and grow this is your birth. Room 04The clock ticked in slow motion in the ICU, every second lasted a minute, and every minute lasted an hour, and so on. It reeked of piss, loved ones tears, and frequent heartache. It also possessed a permanent gloom that fogged up the valuable air. I sat in the waiting room with my knuckles clenched and my heart heavy, while I emotionally braced myself for the worst, guiltily taking ragged breaths. The nurse came around the corner, and everybodys heads snapped up, including mine. She approached me with sadness in her eyes, and I had to go to say goodbye.

Formal Poetry Eternal Sleep - Shakespearean SonnetI laid my head and sought eternal sleepIn a silent vigil, ravens sat in muteAnd there he was death stood ready to reapDeaths hold was consuming and absolute

Goodbye, as the world vanished in a hurryAnd on a pale night mare he and I rodeSenses dulled, my vision became blurry The horizon bled my will to bestow

And there I lay in the serene darknessClad in deaths dress of deep desolationMy next lifes endeavors soon to embarkUnderneath my mother earths foundation

But a second life was never givenFor unplanned death is never forgiven

Conquering the World - TrioletTo conquer the world as we knowWould take careful wit and cunning tricksIn the past hegemony was a man and a bowTo conquer the world as we knowYou now need to have an influential status quoAnd get sit at rest while the poor stack your bricksTo conquer the world as we knowWould take careful wit and cunning tricks

HaikusMy lady winterEntranced the moon to slumber;And day shall not come

Fear is the ocean;Fierce, tenacious, naturalDeep and bottomless

Luminescent fire Hope, to see through the darknessBurns to give us light

Dreams are a Fright - SkeltonicOne time I had a dream That I was with the team We sat and ate ice cream In shade from the sunbeam Fred ordered a supreme With a lot of whipped cream But then I heard a screamAnd saw a color scheme Before a laser beam Suddenly to the right I saw a shining light It was my old friend Dwight He transformed to a knight With such an appetite He ate a hungry biteOf ice cream with delightBut that wasnt alrightFor there was no inviteTo take a single biteIt was so impoliteI woke and sat uprightTo the mornings daylightMy dreams I have at nightAre certainly a fright

Free Verse Poetry Imagist Poem Enlightenment of the Earth
From sapling to sapling song-birds flutter
Fresh air inspires bloom
Splashes of crystal rain,
Tilt the sweet 'mums
Wind murmurs a tranquil song,
to caress a babe to sleep
Droplets from the heavens,
lap at pond edge
To fulfill the trembling fawn
With essence of rebirthBehold the zeal of people,In metallic structuresThat scar her serenity,as unplanned eclipsesThe search of enlightenmentAnd search enlightenmentImprudent to her natureWhile she weptUnnoticed and blocked bytheir crystal droplet shields

They cry to heavensWhile shaking a fistYet not a thoughtHer invoked melancholyUnder blissful ignoranceWe are her feeble childrenyet inadvertently malignantAre unlike our placid siblingsIn sensing her affectionand understanding her wrath

We are melodious birdsThe exuberant flowersThe loquacious rainAnd the feeble fawnBut only if we become oneWe are nature and earth is our mum

Mental Image Poem - Thought Process

Of tapping fingers and twirling of thumbsI sit for hours with my mind on idleIts a constant chase between meand the idea that hides behind my faceMy crumpled papers lay as autumn foliageTip tap, tip tap is the sound of my fingers Huff puff, huff puff, I sigh with exasperationBut in my head theres only a silent responseMy mind's idea pen is out of its yellow leadFor an idea is a sudden bright lightAn idea sparks a mental fire
In every crackle and dance
Is an idea waiting to manifestBut fire can flicker down to a dim
And become too lazy to give me a whim.An idea is a cog in the thought machineBut a cog can become rustyWithout constant repair
Giving up I stood up, sending my papers a flurryGoodbye they whispered to me from my toesFor they were incomplete idea puzzlesThat held little picture
So lain in bed I was without a worry
Yet just as sleep appears,
A single orb of idea tickles from my earBut sleep was quick and whisked me away
So I sat and enjoyed tea With the company of my thoughts in my dream
Maybe I can fathom inspiration when the morning nears.For maybe an idea will be calmly waiting as dawn appears.

Metaphor Poem Canvas of the SkySunsets are mixtures of colors on a canvasThe wind carries brushesTo etch the ombre of pink to indigo
Each day paints a unique landscapeSunsets are the conclusion of a interesting bookThat with each turn of the pageA different shade appears with suspenseA sunset is flavorful passionUntameable and saturated with emotion
And the sunset is I, After a hard day played.
Free Verse Poem - Allergy Season The spring flowers
Invite you to stay
As the wind blows gently
Swaying buds of apple trees
Thaws the exuberant stream
That is swimming full of life
Dewy emerald grass licks feet
While the birds cry their songs
The Golden pollen is set flying
Swirling in the breathable air
Spring is beautiful but
It makes me sneeze

Authors Notes A week had passed since the starved artist had last had something to eat other than his clothes and now he now needed something substantial, before his inevitable death. He knew he was losing what was left of his mind, for the dull knife of hunger that resonated through his endoskeleton was accompanied by his usual migraines, which amplified it to an asylum-like level. The malnourishment overtook him to the point that he did not notice that he had begun to inadvertently twitch in sync to the echos of his agonizing hallucinatory migraines that hauntingly murmured, failure.. failure He whispered psychotically about being a twentieth-century Prometheus, that was trying to give humankind the gift of fire. A fire that burned in his art, but instead got chained to the ravenous eagle that ate away at his brain. He picked up a new type of painting utensil and decided to paint a macabre portrait of red --the color of his lost sanity-- splattering the red beads of paint chaotically onto the canvas before he collapsed. The excruciating pain in his mind and body came to an sharp halt and he managed to breath out a chuckle, for he finally made an explosive art piece. He was free.

For this piece I had to change the wording and sentence order of this rough draft several times before I made it a finalized piece. A lot of the material is the same as it was before, just improved upon. According to my classmates they thought my character had simply collapsed in front of the canvas. I went in and added some key words that displayed he killed himself without directly stating it such as saying The excruciating pain in his mind and body came to an sharp halt and he managed to breath out his last chuckle, instead of he managed to breath out a chuckle. I also went in and tried to make the first sentence better to read and understandable by inserting new phrases and reordering some sentences. It now reads: A week had passed since the starved artist had last had something to eat. The last thing he had eaten was the remaining scraps of his clothing. He was perturbed and aware that he needed to eat something substantial soon, before his inevitable death. The new separates the idea of his hunger and what he last ate into two different sentences. I removed the confusing phrase now he now. and made the thought of his hunger and food be two different sentences without the wording phrase now he now

Without Iambic P. rough draftI sought eternal sleep 6In a silent vigil, ravens sat in mute10Death was ready to reap6Deaths hold was powerful and absolute10

Goodbye, as the world vanished in a hurry10On a night mare we rode6My vision became blurry6The horizon bled my will to bestow10

There I lay in the dark6Clad in deaths dress of deep desolation10My next lifes endeavors soon to embark10Below earths foundation 6

But a second life was never given10For unplanned death is never forgiven 10I had to adhere to the iambic pentameter form in my final draft, so I had to change my chaotic 6/10 meter that wasn't specifically 6/10/6/10 or 6/6/10/10. (it was a meter that was scattered everywhere.) I added four more syllables to each word and made sure each stress was correct. An example of me fixing the scheme was seen in line twelve Underneath my mother earths foundation, which now reads as ten syllables. As given in the authors forwards my poem reads now like this: my n/EXT / lifes EN/dea/VORS / soon/TO / em/BARK /. following the stress rule of iambic pentameter. I followed the correct rhyme scheme though in my rough draft. Of tapping fingers and twirling of thumbsI sit for hours with my mind on idleIts a constant chase between meand the idea that hides behind my faceMy crumpled papers lay as autumn foliageTip tap, tip tap is the sound of my fingersHuff puff, huff puff, I sigh with exasperationBut in my head theres only a silent responseMy mind's idea penis out of its yellow leadFor an idea is a sudden bright lightAn idea sparks a mental fire
In every crackle and dance
Is an idea waiting to manifestBut fire can flicker down to a dim
And become too lazy to give me a whim.An idea is a cog in the thought machineBut a cog can become rustyWithout constant repair
Giving up I stood up, sending my papers a flurryGoodbye they whispered to me from my toesFor they were incomplete idea puzzlesThat held little picture
So lain in bed I was without a worry
Yet just as sleep appears,
A single orb of idea tickles from my earBut sleep was quick and whisked me away
So I sat and enjoyed teaWith the company of my thoughts in my dream
Maybe I can fathom inspiration when the morning nears.For maybe an idea will be calmly waiting as dawn appears.One thing that I changed in my mental image poem is I separated my lines into stanzas. By separating my piece in stanzas my poetry is easier to read and flows better in the reader's mind. One of my peers suggested separating my lines of onomatopoeia to make them stand out more strongly, as my own actions. The final thing I changed was I used the incorrect form of its, I used its in line 10 of the original copy when describing the pen. All of the feedback from my peers were taken into consideration to help my poetry grow. Twit Fiction:My original rough draft twit fiction read as: When a star is born, a nebula collapses, and when a flower grows beautiful it must grow through dirt. So collapse and grow, this is your birth I fixed the awkwardness in when a flower grows beautiful to have it now read and when a flower is beautiful My piece now reads easier. It now is When a star is born, a nebula collapses, and when a flower is beautiful, it once grew through dirt, so collapse and grow this is your birth.

"Even with his eyes closed, the crosshatched blue aura burned into his his retinas." What is the blue aura? I was confused with that and it seemed to be an ill fitting detail if he is sitting in his room at night."He laid in bed, drenched in sweat as he waited for the aura to fade from his mind, and the searing pain in his temples to stop." Get rid of the comma after "from his mind" This should help the sentence from sounding too choppy" his mind suddenly introduced him to a sweet but blank silence" I would get rid of the "and" between "sweet" and "blank" and just have a comma there instead"A silence that flung him forward into an unknown dimension of time and space, while leaving his physical body lain frozen in bed behind him" I suggest changing this to "It was a silence that flung him forward into an unknown dimension of time and space, leaving his physical body frozen in bed behind him." I also suggest getting rid of the line "In a way he matched his environment for he was already a pale individual with porcelain white skin, medium length blondish white hair and pale grey eyes." The description of George kind of seems out of place and irrelevant to the meaning of the story. "The last aftermath of a migraine he had placed him in a benign wintery forest of evergreen trees that filled your lungs with the..." I would get rid of "your" and change it to "his" The whole story is written in third person so the your seems out of place, even if it is a description of the scene.

George held himself as he shuddered in pain under his fuzzy purple blanket in the dead of the night. Even with his eyes closed, the crosshatched blue aura burned into his his retinas. His prescribed migraine medication never provided relief, but through his garbled thoughts, he told himself that it was only a matter of time until the headache would cease. He laid in bed, drenched in sweat as he waited for the aura to fade from his mind, and the searing pain in his temples to stop. By the time the sun began to make its appearance along the horizon, his mind suddenly introduced him to a sweet but blank silence. A silence that flung him forward into an unknown dimension of time and space, while leaving his physical body lain frozen in bed behind him. George fluttered his eyes slowly as sensation rushed back into his limbs. He was on his feet, and he was clad in a white sweeping cloak. He found it peculiar that there was nothing in sight. As far as his eyes could see his surroundings was a vast room that never ended. In a way he matched his environment for he was already a pale individual with porcelain white skin, medium length blondish white hair and pale grey eyes. The last aftermath of a migraine he had placed him in a benign wintery forest of evergreen trees that filled your lungs with the crisp cool air, intertwined with a rich herbal taste of the life-force of the world. It was the first time he had ever been placed in a world that only possessed light. He couldnt feel anything unlike when he was in the forest, but perhaps he was feeling everything and could not bring his mind to analyze it. He didnt know, but he was pacified. Minutes, days, years could have passed and he wouldnt be aware, nor did he care. Time didnt matter to him anymore. But among the light appeared a speck. He at first thought it was his vision becoming splotchy, but slowly the speck became bigger. He jutted his jaw in annoyance and began sprinting forward. He was pissed. The speck had caused a ripple in his peaceful pond, and its ebbs and flows were turning into waves. He ran with all of his might towards the impurity until he got close enough to see it was another person. This person was a woman who was cloaked in black sauntering towards him in black stilletoes that loudly clicked and echoed through his world. He stopped in his tracks, panting and glaring at the women slowly approaching him. She eventually stood in front of him and stared at him with curiosity etched in her hazel eyes, and a twitch of a smile on her dark lips. George, shifted his weight, feeling uncomfortable by the frankness in her eyes as she looked him up and down. Her presence quickly dazed him, as quickly as her presence angered him, and he instinctively reached out to touch her cheek. When his fingers made contact with her skin, she crumpled and blew away into a black dust. The dust that was once the cloaked figure dispersed and manifested into the walls, flooring, and ceiling of his peaceful world of light and shattered it. He fell through the light and into a void of darkness, twisting, turning and spaghettifiying through the hauntingly dark void. He cried out, but no sound came out. He fell and fell, and fell, until he finally hit a hard surface many eons later. He lay on his back on his bed and sobbed for hours.
In this piece I changed it according to my classmates critiques. One person states to me that she didn't understand what the crosshatched blue aura was that George was seeing, and I realized not everyone knows what a migraine is like/what the symptoms are. So I added the phrase the pain behind his eyeballs. I also tried to clarify some things about his migraine, like including at the end about how he had his feeling of euphoria once his migraine stopped and his medicine began to work, which I didn't really state because that wasn't actually my intention. Previously in the class we had to make a character map that I naively thought we weren't going to use. So I created a neurotic character who goes into other dimensions. After I submitted the story I realized only my teachers had seen the character maps, therefore making the reason why George had such a trip kind of unknown to the readers. I changed a few sentences to read better aswell, such as the sentence silence that flung him forward into an unknown dimension of time and space, while leaving his physical body lain frozen in bed behind him" now reads "It was a silence that flung him forward into an unknown dimension of time and space, leaving his physical body frozen in bed behind him." I also changed the sentence The last aftermath of a migraine he had placed him in a benign wintery forest of evergreen trees that filled your lungs with the..." to say that filled his lungs since I wrote in third person in the rest of the story. I also separated my last paragraph into two to allow the reader understand what is occurring better.