'Anxiety' - my first creative writing
This is my first 'proper' attempt at writing a short creative piece. I recently submitted it for a course I did, and thought I would share it here!
Her blonde hair, usually pristine, was slightly dishevelled; her palms sweaty, she went over every detail again in her mind. She knew she needed to get this right, or things could go drastically wrong for her.
The grey buildings surrounding the car park were blurred by the rain settling on the window, and even the baby pink colour of her car seemed subdued in the shadow of the storm clouds. She had been here in the summer, and remembered the sun dappled lawns, sitting under the trees and chatting with her friends. How different things were today.
She ran her hands through her hair, and checked her make-up.
‘Almost perfect’ she thought, eyeing the cut at the corner of her mouth she had obtained the night before, and not quite managed to conceal. She had considered not coming here today, but knew it was a step in the right direction, even if they thought badly of her.
As the rain eased, she stepped out of the driver’s seat and straightened her pencil skirt and jacket. She was ill at ease with the formal outfit; she liked her comfy jeans and trainers, and hiding in baggy clothes, although her curvy but slim frame hardly needed to be disguised in any way. At 5ft 11in, she was taller than most of her friends, the guys as well as the girls, and her bright green eyes were often referred to as unusual. While she was never quite sure if this was supposed to be a compliment or not, she mostly took it as read that it was a good thing. She wished her quiet confidence hadn’t deserted her this morning; she needed some of that self-assurance that things would be ok.
She wondered if her nerves showed as she made her way across the car park. The view was not improved by the departure of the rain clouds and the building, grey and dull, seemed to loom at her as she approached the front doors. Anyone who saw her wringing her hands would have known how fearful she was. She mentally scolded herself for the emotional reaction; not usually one to show her feelings, even by accident, she felt out of control when she did.
She stopped briefly at the doors, if only to steel her for the task ahead, as the automatic doors slid apart. She stepped over the threshold, and took a deep breath as she approached the reception desk. The college receptionist greeted her warmly, with a hint of recognition in her eyes.
‘Hi, I’m here for the trainee lecturer day. I believe you’re expecting me?’
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