People Aren't Made to Fly

We are doing Creative Writing this term in English. In our lesson today, our teacher, Ms. Wilson, told us why we do this topic and why it is so important. Creative writing is so important because it deals with being able to express yourself and, ultimately, being able to write in an effective manner. No matter what career you chose, during the course of getting the appropriate qualifications, you'll need to be able to write. You have to be able to explain yourself.
I realise all branches of English deals with those things in some way, but creative writing is a particularly interesting medium to do so. It pushes you (it certainly pushes me), because there are no concrete rights and wrongs. And topics can be as diverse and endless as your imagination.
Creative writing is good for getting things out (i.e. emotions, opinion, ideas) and also useful for preserving special experiences and memories.
A point that Ms. Wilson really stressed was the need to make the reader feel as if they are there. To accomplish that you have to be able to effectively and fluently translate the ideas and thoughts in your mind into words. You need to use the right syntax, wording, punctuation, and vocabulary to pull the reader to a place where what the words are representing exist, where they are not just letters on a page. So, as you can see, it is a very important branch of English.
Subsequently, we now have to post at least one piece of creative writing a week on our blogs.
I think this will be interesting because you will be able to see how you improve over the course of the term.

Today we were shown a photo of a man flying through the air with his bike in tow. The caption below instructed us to write a story imaging we were the person on the bike. It was interesting to see everyone's different takes on it. It should be aruond 250 words, our teacher said, and this story is 343. But as that guy wrote in that letter; I would have written less, had I had the time.

People Aren't Made to Fly

This was it. Those three words pounded in time with my racing heartbeat, a frantic mantra, reminding me of all that had led to this moment. I raised my eyes to the heavens, not in a gesture of last minute faith, but to admire the sky of unnaturally incandescent blue.

I eventually pulled my eyes back to reality; back to now. Fear lurched within me.
My gaze kept falling, traveling down the steep and ruthless hill.
What had I gotten myself into?

The crowd that had gathered was getting restless. The had come here to see a coward or a hero, they didn’t care which. But what about the other option? What about that high chance of a painful and shaming demise? Your bones shattering on the pavement...

Whatever happened, it was too late now. Either way, I’d still be known as The Guy Who Didn’t Do It.
My mouth felt bone-dry. I desperately needed to breathe. I couldn't fly off a ramp at high speed if I couldn’t breathe. Okay. In. Out. There’s no time like the present.

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of me and was soaring around me. The ramp was getting closer by the second. I was so close to being dead broke, I could not afford to hesitate.

Then I was flying, flying; instinct and practice taking control. Time was traveling unusually fast, or maybe that was just me. Then, as abruptly as it had begun I was falling. Everything around me was rushing to the surface but I was I was going down.

My hands absorb shockwaves as my bike bounces on the road. I grit my teeth against the pain.
The road is real and unforgiving beneath me, but it doesn't seem like it's there. My mind is still flying in the sky above me.

It comes to me slowly, as if from a far-off distance. The sounds of cheering and applause hesitantly reaches my shell-shocked, but very alive, form hunched on my bike. It was done.

And I was The Guy Who Did It.