Week 2 Writing Homework
Prompt :
Using the techniques explored throughout these sessions, write a captivating opening to a story about discovering a forgotten library. Focus particularly on creating a vivid setting that engages all senses and establishes a distinctive atmosphere.
Using the techniques explored throughout these sessions, write a captivating opening to a story about discovering a forgotten library. Focus particularly on creating a vivid setting that engages all senses and establishes a distinctive atmosphere. 500 words
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- Due Date : May 17, 2025
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40 thoughts on “Week 2 Writing Homework”
The Forgotten Library
The door was barely a door at all, just a warped sliver of wood buried in the stone, half-swallowed by creeping ivy. It groaned when pushed, a sound like an old throat clearing after centuries of silence. Cold air spilled out, tasting of dust and secrets, curling around my ankles like the breath of something long asleep.
I stepped inside.
The air thickened instantly, heavy with the scent of decaying parchment and damp stone. It clung to my skin, slick and clammy, like the inside of a forgotten tomb. My footsteps echoed with hollow insistence, as if the very walls remembered sound and were eager to hold onto it.
The room opened out around me, vast and shrouded in shadow. Light strained through the cracked ceiling, pale shafts slicing the darkness like hesitant fingers. Dust danced in those rays, slow, deliberate, almost reverent, each mote a tiny relic of the past. Books loomed on every side, stacked in precarious towers and crowded shelves, their spines curled and crumbling, titles faded to whispers. Some looked as if they might collapse under the weight of their own knowledge.
I reached out to touch one, and the leather cover flaked beneath my fingertips like brittle skin. It was warm, unnaturally so, as though it held the ghost of a hand that had just released it. The air stirred, rustling the pages of an open tome on a nearby lectern. The sound was dry and papery, like old wings fluttering in warning.
A clock somewhere deep within the walls ticked faintly. It was steady but distant, like a heartbeat buried in stone. Time hadn’t stopped here, it had only been ignored, left to echo behind the hush. I imagined it as a keeper of memories, marking the slow decay of everything the world above had forgotten.
The smell deepened the further I walked: old ink, mildew, the iron tang of something ancient. A tapestry on the wall shivered, though there was no breeze. My skin prickled. This place wasn’t just abandoned, it was waiting. Watching.
A single candle flickered on a table in the center, though I hadn’t lit it. Its flame leaned toward me, a thin, trembling tongue, as if whispering secrets only the brave, or the foolish, would dare to hear. My throat tightened, the silence pressing down, dense and velvet-soft, wrapping around me like the hush before a storm.
I’d come here chasing a myth. A library no one remembered, one not marked on any map, spoken of only in scraps of lore passed between bookish wanderers. I had expected dust and silence. I had not expected presence.
The library was alive.
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Varoon – WEEK 2
My footsteps echoed through the deserted, cobwebbed aisles. The foot high dust murmured unhappily as I plough through it. Ancient, antique bookshelves creaked mournfully under the weight of heavy, leather bound volumes, their titles glinting faintly from the dim light of candles. The thick volumes, with their peeling covers and yellow page, seemed to be talking and whispering to the soft wind whenever my back was turned. Moth-eaten chairs stand dismally as their worn-out cushions told a story of a once merry library. Now however, disturbed spiders scuttle angrily across its surface. The golden sunlight would have shone through the colorful, paned windows but the cobwebs, dust and mold covered it. Color pencils lay scattered on the floor, the words on them faded and ineligible. Two crudely made tables stood side by side. I could see that trying to draw on them would be like trying to build a castle of cards on a crooked table.
There was something about this cathedral sized library that suggested former grandeur. Crystal chandeliers dangle, bedraggled with cobwebs. Windows the size of doors stand, no longer colored, but grey and dull. A throne like chair was in the center of all this. Red velvet still shone faintly through the dust that called it their home. The librarian’s desk looked, like the rest of the library, perfectly in order. All the reserved books lay in alphabetical order. I was busy examining the contents of a drawer when CRASH!!!
I screamed. The shelve of heavy volumes had collapsed centimeter from where I stood. I leapt a meter into the air and backed away, but everything seemed to be fine. I crept back down to the chairs and ventured further into the labyrinth of literature. Dead ends greeted me in earnest. Until, I found stairs. Cautiously, I crept up them, into a domed room. It was a bedroom. A pale blue comb lay on the dressing table. In the far corner was a tiny bed. Next to that, was a small cupboard.
I backed out of the room down the stairs. That’s when I saw him. A young boy. Whizzing over the dust with new hover ski’s, checking the books. Then he returned into a concealed door that I had not spotted. Quietly, I tiptoed down the stairs and then, sprinted as fast as I could towards the exit. I heard a yell, “Someone’s here!” Then shelves attacked, they lunged and grabbed at me with books. I used these to my advantage. Hopping onto them like parkour. Then I ran towards the door, slamming it after me. Behind it, I heard several books slamming into the other side.
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jocelin.lu – WEEK 2
so i know we were supposed to do 4 different texts about different descriptive methods, but I ended up writing it all mashed up into one.
scholary HW- library
Upon reviewing your homework, we found that it was unfinished. Please send us the complete work so we can offer detailed feedback on your writing. Thank you.
sorry, wrong file. Please check my updated file.
library-scholary- isabella
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Isabella Peng – WEEK 2
Writing in attachment.
Scholarly Writing
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Tricia Yi – WEEK 2
The library settled itself next to the dull, forgotten palace through a tight alleyway on the street. Its door was hidden amongst the thick bushes, nearly impossible to see. The ancient wood shimmered with sunshine. Ivy crawled over the old building, its vines curled around the rusty handles.
The heavy door moaned as I pushed it open, as if waking up from a century-long sleep. The silence broke when I stepped into the library. Dust and cobwebs covered every corner, and moths coated the eaten, worn-out books. Tiny streaks of light filtered through the cracked ceiling, causing flora to sprout through the narrow gaps in the damaged walls.
Bang!
I stammered backward, nearly falling, my heart racing as I stepped backward, the ground creaked with every step I took. Crack! Something was wrong. Suddenly, the antique bookshelves began to twist and shift around me, forming an impossible way out.
“This is your price for entering!” bellowed the library.”Attack!”
The books began to tumble towards me, creating a mess of broken shelves and flying pages everywhere. I dodge them skillfully, as the wall behind me made the distance between us closer. I dashed as quickly as I could, stepping on books that formed a path towards the entrance.
“Come back, you child!” demanded the library.
“Not now! And don’t call me that!” I retorted.
I bolted out of the library and slammed the door behind me. Crash! The last shelves banged against the stained door, I used all my strength to prevent the door from bursting open.
“Ughhh, I’ll get you later!” the library hollered, desperate to pull me back.
But it couldn’t because I am never going back. Not ever again.
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Yilin Tao – WEEK 2
below
The Forgotten Library
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Rosabella – WEEK 2
done
Felix SUN Week 2 writing
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zhuyingdorahotmail-com – WEEK 2
My work is attached
scholary HW- library
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Anastasia Peng – WEEK 2
As I approached the library, I could smell the faint scent of musty pages, getting stronger as I got closer. The building had cobwebs covering it into an unidentifiable building. My hand tentatively went out to open what I guessed was the door, the uneven oak bumpy and misshaped. It creaked, its rusty hinges barely able to support it. Finally, I was able to fling it open, a shower of dust covering me from head to toe. As I sneezed, I opened my eyes in wonder ; so many books, so many uncovered stories. But as I reached out to grab a book by its spine, I could see the yellowing of the pages, the spine connected to the pages with a thin string. It gave off dust, soft but chilly mould that sent shivers down my spine and the strong scent of ink. My footsteps echoed in the large, empty library. The windows were open wide, but eerily, they only filtered a bit of light, creating a place that grew darker and colder and more forgotten. I left the door open, but no light was coming through. I still don’t know why, but after I realized that, I heard… a breath. A presence. Not mine… but another. My palms started sweating, my eyes went wide. Yes, this was true. I couldn’t deny it. The sounds became more frequent, more noticable.
I was not alone.
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Aria Cui – WEEK 2
**The Forgotten Library**
The door resisted at first, its warped wood clinging to the frame as if reluctant to reveal what lay beyond. Then, with a groan—long and low, like a sigh of something ancient—it yielded. A cool breath escaped the gap, carrying with it the scent of time itself: aged parchment, damp stone, and the sharp smell of ink long dried upon brittle pages.
I hesitated for a moment, letting the musty air fill my lungs, as if breathing it in might somehow help me understand this forgotten place. My flashlight flickered, its golden beam shining through the heavy gloom. Rows upon rows of books towered before me, standing like sentinals, their spines cracked and curled with age. Some leaned against their neighbors, like weary travelers at the end of a long adventure. Dust clung to them in thick layers, disturbed only by the faint shiver of air that stirred the silence.
The library stretched outward in all directions, vanishing into the shadows where the light could not reach. Chandeliers, their metal dulled beneath decades of filth, hung from a vaulted ceiling lost in the void above. Spiderwebs draped across them like forgotten shoelace, trembling slightly in the stillness. The room hummed—not with sound, but with presence, with the quiet pulse of a place that had not been touched for centuries, yet remained alive.
I stepped forward, my boot pressing into the film of dust upon the stone floor. The sound was swallowed instantly, absorbed by the silence like a drop of ink vanishing into thirsty parchment. Somewhere deep within the maze of shelves, a single page fluttered, its dry whisper slicing through the hush. I held my breath.
The scent of mildew thickened as I moved between towering bookcases. The wooden frames had swelled with age, their surfaces rough beneath my fingertips. I traced the faded gold lettering of a spine, its once-bright filigree dulled by time and neglect. The cover flaked at my touch, releasing a sigh of dust into the air.
At the heart of the room stood an immense wooden desk, its surface scarred with ink stains and deep scratches. A candle, long extinguished, sat atop it, wax frozen in thick, uneven rivulets cascading down its sides. The melted drips glistened faintly in the dim light, like petrified tears. I reached out to brush the surface, trailing my fingers along the grooves left by quills that had scratched ideas onto parchment long ago.
Then—just as I reached for a book resting open upon the desk—a sound. Faint, distant—like the shift of parchment or the creak of old leather. It was soft but deliberate.
I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. My flashlight flickered again, casting jagged shapes across the walls. The library felt alive—not in a way that books and words should, but in something deeper. Something watching.
Then, another sound. A faint rustling, the scrape of movement just beyond the bookshelves. I turned, sweeping my flashlight toward the source, but the shadows swallowed my light before it reached anything. The silence thickened, pressing against my ears.
I took a step back, my breath shallow, my skin prickling with the feeling that I was no longer alone.
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rainie-jiangoutlook-com – WEEK 2
The Forgotten Library
The door of the archaic library was barely still standing. Vines warped around it, the delicate timber crumbling from the inside.The door let out a hearty moan and slowly creaked open, revealing the mystical contents of a well preserved library. As musty agglomerations of dust motes swirled through the ancient atmosphere, a deafening silence echoed faintly, ricocheting around the vast expanse of the forgotten library. The neatly arranged rows of bookshelves seemed to be mumbling and muttering. After empty centuries, the books were in a ruined state, the intricate vellum and parchment yellowing by the second. Viking runes were embedded deep inside the decaying books, clinging onto the final remnants of history’s past civilisations. Then, out of the blue, a chilling gale of frigid wind crept down my spine, immensely frightening me. I reluctantly peered over one of the colossal, towering bookshelves, hoping that nothing was there.
I sensed a faint waft of reeking wood and imminently noticed that it was coming from a perhaps millennium old text. The air shimmered over it, the sheer incandescent heat emitting on me. Sweat beads the size of tennis balls trickled down the nape of my neck. My mouth suddenly went desert dry, my tongue hanging out of my mouth. The thick, heavy air swirled around me, slickly entrapping me in the never ending heatwave. I nearly collapsed onto the rigid, stone wall floor, hanging on by the skin of my teeth. Then the climate shifted instantaneously towards a freezing climate, the cold scurrying up me. I shivered and my teeth clacked together like a nutcracker’s would. Clouds of condensed air puffed out from my mouth with every struggled breath.
This book was causing all the calamity. In an instant, a flurry of frosted wind swept around the encased room, and next, thousands of degrees heat scorched me. The book before me was now beaming up an amber yellow ray of luminescent light, signalling to me a hidden message. I was flabbergasted, my mind racing, attempting to grasp the meaning. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning, the library was alive.
Soon, the books enthralled me with venerable tales of the ancestors of the first books and explained the intricate history of the library. I listened to every word, soaking in the rich information like a sponge. The whispers of the books were now heard and I could understand. I was originally sent to this antique sanctuary to steal the magic scroll by a power hungry dictator, but now, after hearing the disheartening tale of the library, I rethought my decision. I pondered, plotting a scheme to escape without the intended item.
Eventually, I decided to flee the country, letting the untouched, serene and tranquil library to continue its peaceful ways, and to conserve significant insights on the ancient history.
From Prahar
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Praharshvian – WEEK 2
I always loved this job, but now I think that this job needs to be more exciting. The library is forgotten, and this culture of community practice is gone. I want to make it more likable to this current generation but how?
Later in the morning, a girl comes to me, holding an iPad, asking to return the books for her mother. As I scan the bar code, I think about how the girl and everyone else is online, watching technology these days. I realise that was the one that was missing.
With that I deeply thought about how to make it more entertaining, engaging with both technology and books at the same time. Group story writing on technology was one idea. I hoped this would work.
I put posters of story sessions around the area and put advertisements on televisions, hoping someone would come soon. I set up the stations of activities as a few kids come join in the fun.
At first, they sounded disinterested in my story telling and I had to find a different way. I tried many techniques but not one smile could be seen. Just as were about to leave, I gave them each a tablet and told them to read a book.
We had discussions about each book and had lots of fun. Finally, I could see happy faces in front of me. After they left, they spread their experiences and soon, many came to the library.
Over time, more and more children joined each session. I smiled with joy. This is not long a forgotten library, but a library that allows children to play and learn, together. I will continue to share this library make a fit for any generation to come.
Descriptive paragraph: As I opened the creaky door of the forgotten library, it greets me to come in. Dust moats everywhere and cobwebs hung on the roofs. I took out a book and felt the leather-bound cover that was covered in dust. The dark room had brightened up as if it was happy to see me. There was more to explore in this forgotten library.
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Alessia Li – WEEK 2
My math teacher was droning on about trigonometry, calculus and topology. Because of this, my heart gleamed like gold when I heard the recess bell ring. Immediately, my teachers voice stopped like a robot. Everyone ran outside to the playground. All, except me. I strode off in the opposite direction – the school library. But this isn’t your normal library, filled with books and checkouts and kind librarians and whatnot – this is a library of mysteries, bugs, and most likely a gazillion cobwebs. But all of those scared me. The only reason I went in deflected my fears – my intrigue. I was intrigued by how the school had not moved the rusty hinges of the door for 47 years! As I turned the hinges of the wobbly door, it broke off completely. Maybe instead of 47, it was 147 years. With impending fear and the anticipation of what secrets were written in the library’s books, I took a step. Then another. And another. Soon I was in the middle of the creeping room, the lights of candles flickering on and off around me. I watched as the library unfolded it’s secrets around me, history swelling up past the very matter itself in the room. I watched as all the knowledge extended out, into my brain. Suddenly, the ring of the bell, indicating the end of recess and for us to return to our classroom, pierced my ears and woke me up from my abstraction. This amazing library will have to wait. I watch as the clock ticks past midnight on the wall to my side. I hope time goes differently in this mythical room, otherwise my teachers would kill me. I hope my history lesson isn’t as boring as math. If it is, I guess this amazement will be expecting another visit from me at lunch.
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AryanR – WEEK 2 (1)
By the way, I posted another screenshot of this as it said something went wrong but when I tried to post it again, it said it was already sent. so in case something is lagging on my end, I will send a screenshot of it here.
The Forgotten Library
By Marina
What seemed like a trillion year old moldy door swayed open as if it was welcoming me to this horrible crusty place. As I stepped inside the scent of musty books drowned my tingling nostrils. Disintegrating timber walls towered over me like a mountain. As I looked around I could see thousands of millions of yellowing books. Massive cobwebs adorned the bookshelves and jumbo spiders hung from them like monkeys.. Peridot coloured ivy crawled up the walls like spiders. Pale grey dust made everything invisible. As I tiptoed in, eyes wider than saucers, each step made the air fill with dust and fraying paper. Grotesque rats rapidly scuttled in every direction as my presence shook them leaving dirty paw prints behind them.
As I placed my finger on an out of date book every single memory it had flooded into me. Then I ran through the ancient library seeing all the different precious memories it held. Little kids reading and laughing, parents laughing and reading. Everything seemed to come alive. Colours bloomed after many years of neglect. Cacophonous noise filled my ears. I looked around seeing the so-called abandoned library come to life again. The before crumbling furniture looked brand new. The rainbow cushions were filled with kids. Golden sunlight illuminated every single corner of the room. I then realised something: this library isn’t abandoned, it’s as alive as ever dancing and thriving. Better than ever. I ran through the now modern aisles in awe and saw that the books have been restored to their original form. I walked and skipped and trotted until my grandma yelled at me to:
“GET OUT OF THERE!”
I hurried over to my grandma and left but not without one last peek at the magnificent building that will always have that grandeur it used to and always will hold.
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Qiaoqiao – WEEK 2
Shrouded in eternal darkness, the library lay, unnoticed, unfelt. Until the girl, it had tinkered on the edge of existence, with each passing day, growing closer and closer to being eternally consumed by the never-ending abyss. Raven black illuminated the eerie doorway, and as the girl stepped through it, a long creak erupted from the door. As she gazed at the rows and rows of books, shelved on mahogany frames, a desire to know more overcame her.
She gazed closer at the leather bound books, coated in a fragile layer of dust. As she reached out a delicate, black nailed hand, the dust shrivelled away, and the swarm of camouflaged moths flew away, like bats on a midnight hour. As the girl, whose name was Hecate, peered closer at the books, unsuspecting cobwebs shrouded her face. She swiped at the silk strings, with an air of cautionary curiosity.
Suddenly, she noticed a single lone book in the corner, resting against a wall. The wall, with paint stripped off emitted a glow, which Hecate later discovered to be the flame of a single torch – but just as she took in a breath, the flame of the candle diminished entirely, the library now completely dark.
She rustled in her pocket of her ink black jacket, and pulled out a single match. As she struck it on the box, a single flame appeared. She slowly walked around the area, gazing at the thousands of books abandoned for thousands of years. But yet, her gaze still fell on that single lonely book in the dark musty corner.
Hecate crouched down, her fragile snow white fingers stretching out, and as her fingers reached the book, a blinding flash pierced her eyes. Bolts of brilliant gold shot through the air, and bright light filled golden walls. As Hecate opened her sharp eyes, she took a violent intake of breath. This library was now filled with colour, vibrant streaks of many spectrums dotting the shelves. And the gold… It glistened, shining like a never waning sun, filling the room with – happiness.
Happiness. Something Hecate had never felt before, in her gloomy 12 years of insignificant existence. But now, she didn’t feel happiness. No… it was something else. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Hecate looked around her surroundings. Apart from the single dusty book in the corner, nothing was the same. The once old and wrinkled books were replaced with beautiful novels, and creaky doorframes were replaced with silver lined doors. But as she looked at the door, Hecate realised that it seemed to be bolted shut. And as she gazed around the room, there were no windows. Except for…
That one. The tiny little window peeking out from the moonlight silver lace curtains, almost as if it was scared to be found. And as Hecate slowly peeled back the curtains, she gasped, a mixture of extreme fear and shock. There was nothing. Nothing outside the window. No street lights, no trees, no clouds, no stars, no moon. Purely black.
Her eyes danced around the room, her usually gloomy and serious attitude replaced with an unconsolable fear. Out of nowhere, a single thud interrupted her thoughts. It was the thud of a falling book. What followed was the sound of paws hitting the smooth, intricate woven carpet. And as Hecate realised the truth, beads of sweat began to fall from her forehead, soon turning into bucketfuls. Yes – something was wrong.
Someone, or more like something, was coming.
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Gemma Gluga – WEEK 2
Shrouded in eternal darkness, the library lay, unnoticed, unfelt. Until the girl, it had tinkered on the edge of existence, with each passing day, growing closer and closer to being eternally consumed by the never-ending abyss. Raven black illuminated the eerie doorway, and as the girl stepped through it, a long creak erupted from the door. As she gazed at the rows and rows of books, shelved on mahogany frames, a desire to know more overcame her.
She gazed closer at the leather bound books, coated in a fragile layer of dust. As she reached out a delicate, black nailed hand, the dust shrivelled away, and the swarm of camouflaged moths flew away, like bats on a midnight hour. As the girl, whose name was Hecate, peered closer at the books, unsuspecting cobwebs shrouded her face. She swiped at the silk strings, with an air of cautionary curiosity.
Suddenly, she noticed a single lone book in the corner, resting against a wall. The wall, with paint stripped off emitted a glow, which Hecate later discovered to be the flame of a single torch – but just as she took in a breath, the flame of the candle diminished entirely, the library now completely dark.
She rustled in her pocket of her ink black jacket, and pulled out a single match. As she struck it on the box, a single flame appeared. She slowly walked around the area, gazing at the thousands of books abandoned for thousands of years. But yet, her gaze still fell on that single lonely book in the dark musty corner.
Hecate crouched down, her fragile snow white fingers stretching out, and as her fingers reached the book, a blinding flash pierced her eyes. Bolts of brilliant gold shot through the air, and bright light filled golden walls. As Hecate opened her sharp eyes, she took a violent intake of breath. This library was now filled with colour, vibrant streaks of many spectrums dotting the shelves. And the gold… It glistened, shining like a never waning sun, filling the room with – happiness.
Happiness. Something Hecate had never felt before, in her gloomy 12 years of insignificant existence. But now, she didn’t feel happiness. No… it was something else. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Hecate looked around her surroundings. Apart from the single dusty book in the corner, nothing was the same. The once old and wrinkled books were replaced with beautiful novels, and creaky doorframes were replaced with silver lined doors. But as she looked at the door, Hecate realised that it seemed to be bolted shut. And as she gazed around the room, there were no windows. Except for…
That one. The tiny little window peeking out from the moonlight silver lace curtains, almost as if it was scared to be found. And as Hecate slowly peeled back the curtains, she gasped, a mixture of extreme fear and shock. There was nothing. Nothing outside the window. No street lights, no trees, no clouds, no stars, no moon. Purely black.
Her eyes danced around the room, her usually gloomy and serious attitude replaced with an unconsolable fear. Out of nowhere, a single thud interrupted her thoughts. It was the thud of a falling book. What followed was the sound of paws hitting the smooth, intricate woven carpet. And as Hecate realized the truth, beads of sweat began to fall from her forehead, soon turning into bucketfuls. Yes – something was wrong.
Someone, or more like something, was coming.
What seemed like a trillion year old moldy door swayed open as if it was welcoming me to this horrible crusty place. As I stepped inside the scent of musty books drowned my tingling nostrils. Disintegrating timber walls towered over me like a mountain. As I looked around I could see thousands of millions of yellowing books. Massive cobwebs adorned the bookshelves and jumbo spiders hung from them like monkeys.. Peridot coloured ivy crawled up the walls like spiders. Pale grey dust made everything invisible. As I tiptoed in, eyes wider than saucers, each step made the air fill with dust and fraying paper. Grotesque rats rapidly scuttled in every direction as my presence shook them leaving dirty paw prints behind them.
As I placed my finger on an out of date book every single memory it had flooded into me. Then I ran through the ancient library seeing all the different precious memories it held. Little kids reading and laughing, parents laughing and reading. Everything seemed to come alive. Colours bloomed after many years of neglect. Cacophonous noise filled my ears. I looked around seeing the so-called abandoned library come to life again. The before crumbling furniture looked brand new. The rainbow cushions were filled with kids. Golden sunlight illuminated every single corner of the room. I then realised something: this library isn’t abandoned, it’s as alive as ever dancing and thriving. Better than ever. I ran through the now modern aisles in awe and saw that the books have been restored to their original form. I walked and skipped and trotted until my grandma yelled at me to:
“GET OUT OF THERE!”
I hurried over to my grandma and left but not without one last peek at the magnificent building that will always have that grandeur it used to and always will hold.
This is my writing piece. I had difficulty submitting it in text, I may have but it doesn’t show on my screen. This is my writing.
P.S – Hecate is the god of witchcraft and evil magic.
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My writing i think my comp. is glitching tho…
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My Writing
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My footsteps echoed through the dusty hallways, heavy with unsolved mysteries and long-buried secrets. Shelves stood cloaked in century-old dust, dull and grey beneath the dim light. Thick, leather-bound books lined the library walls, containing lifetimes of boundless knowledge – far more than anyone could ever think of
Though abandoned for decades, the books remained in perfect order, apart from the delicate yellowing of their corners. They seemed to have ignored the passing of thousands of years.
A quiet infestation had taken hold – spiders, multiplying over the years, had woven their delicate webs into the corners and cracks, as if they’d claimed the place for themselves. But as I stood there, I realised this space wasn’t just theirs. It had once been a home – for librarians, for readers, for people in search of stories to tell and read.
I glanced around the library and noticed a brown oak door tucked quietly into the corner. The wood was worn and scratched with age. Curious, I walked over and pushed it open. The rusty hinges let out a long creak, cutting through the silence like a whisper that had been waiting to be heard.
Behind the door was a small, dusty room filled with scrolls—thousands of them, stacked neatly on shelves from floor to ceiling. I stepped inside and reached for one. As I unrolled it, a cloud of dust rose into the air, making me cough. But as the dust settled, I saw the writing—carefully written lines filled with knowledge and stories long forgotten. It was a treasure trove of wisdom, hidden away for years.
At that moment, I felt a spark of hope. What if with everyone’s knowledge and help, we could transform this abandoned shack back into its old glory. Sure, maybe the future’s not ours to change. But perhaps one day, even if it may not be today, it would wake from its long, quiet slumber, and once again become a home for stories, for readers, and for people who, like the library, are still looking for something lost in the pages.
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melodyc – WEEK 2