Writing. An art, how we writers express through. Millions of words come out of our pen when our creative juices flow. I go to English class. We have to make a free essay. I move my head from side to side, staring at the others. They stare at me, mouthing whispered cries of ideas. They have none.They stare at the blank lined papers and their pencils, trying to think of an idea.
But then, I look again at my paper and grab the soft pencil in my hand. Almost immediately ideas and thoughts run through my mind. Without even thinking of it, the pen looks for a paper to write on. It starts writing alone. Everything I think of in those minutes are written down in the paper. In my mind, I had opened a door. I had found it in a window, on the floor of a building. It led to a beach in Spain, as beautiful as they are. My bare foot touched and felt the soft sweet sand beneath. The wind moved my hair. My feet ran to the waters. The cold water took all the sweat and warmth from me, and it was totally refreshing. I swam, following the soft waves. I do not remember when did I stop, but I know how. I had encountered a few jellyfish in the water, with no sting. Turtles swam around, accompanied with dolphins, eating them like a jelly gummy bear. I went inside the water, very deep.
I saw everything beneath, and touched all of them. Then, one of the dolphins grabbed my hand with its tail, and we entered a cave under the sea together. It showed my the most various varieties of fish and animal creatures and plants existing. Purple, white, brown, yellow, green, orange, every color you could imagine. Then, I slept in the inside of an oyster, with a starfish and jellyfish as a pillow.
Then, I finished. My teacher had placed her hand in my back. Everyone stared at me. I turned it in, and she liked it. Everyone knew about what I wrote when she read it out loud to all the class. That was what I call the art of writing, and that is what I feel when I do it.