creative writting (Essay Sample)

Short story: Imagine and get in the head of one of your ancestors, and tell their story in a 2-page double-spaced paper. You might imagine the story of one of your ancestor’s adventures or what it was like for them to live through a particular time, or make a particular decision. Remember that although the story should be rooted in reality (i.e., even if it didn’t, it could have happened), the story is fictional, and you can take artistic liberty. You may use any of the following to inspire your story: ● A scar ● A ghost ● An era ● A photograph ● A fear of _______ ● A personality trait or temperament Answer Title: The Scar of Redemption In the flickering glow of the hearth, I sit, tracing the rugged terrain of my scar with calloused fingers. It's a memento of a bygone era, etched into my flesh like a map of my tumultuous past. Allow me to take you on a journey through time, to the era of the American Civil War, where my story begins. My name is Jeremiah O'Connor, a humble farmer from the rolling hills of Virginia. I was never one for grand adventures or lofty dreams; I found solace in the simplicity of tilling the soil and watching the seasons change. But fate had other plans for me, as the tempest of war swept across our land like a merciless tide. It was a chilly morning when I bid farewell to my beloved wife, Mary, and our infant son, Thomas. Duty called, and I heeded its summons, donning the uniform of the Confederate Army with a heavy heart. Fear gnawed at my insides as I marched alongside my comrades, uncertainty shrouding the path that lay ahead. In the heat of battle, amidst the deafening roar of cannons and the acrid scent of gunpowder, I witnessed horrors that would haunt me till my dying day. Yet, it was not the bloodshed nor the brutality of war that left its mark upon me, but rather a moment of reckoning that would define my existence. During a skirmish on the outskirts of Gettysburg, a Union soldier emerged from the smoke, his bayonet gleaming like a deadly viper. In a haze of adrenaline-fueled instinct, I raised my rifle and fired, the shot ringing out like a thunderclap. The soldier fell, his life extinguished in an instant, and I was left grappling with the weight of my actions. As I knelt beside the fallen foe, I saw not the face of an enemy, but the reflection of my own mortality. The scarlet stain of blood mingled with the tears that coursed down my cheeks, staining the earth with the mark of my t...