A sample from my new writing class...

I have started taking a weekly writing class with City of Toronto every Tuesday.

Last week's assignment was to write about "any event" that takes place in your childhood bedroom, so... run-on sentences and whatnot aside, what do you think?

Safe Haven

“Come on, Patrick!” Deena whispered frantically as she gestured to the man on the stairs to hurry up, “ I think I heard one still on the main level, and I do not want to deal with that tonight...”

The beam of Patrick’s flashlight glanced off the smiling faces of portraits that had crashed to the floor as he rushed up the last few stairs and around the corner to the room Deena had chosen on the second level of the abandoned home.

They could risk flashlights now that they were inside, though Patrick worried about the large wall of windows at the front of the entranceway that faced the stairs—never knew how many eyes were watching in the dark. He also worried about how many batteries they had left. And whether he would see another sunrise. But that’s what life was about now—worry. And survival.

Deena shut the door quietly behind him, slamming home the deadbolt on the back of the door. So that’s why she’d chosen this room—strange for a bedroom to have a deadbolt, but he was happy about it. He clicked his flashlight off. Less to worry about.

Patrick also noted the huge wall of windows at the front of the room. “Are you crazy?” he demanded, crossing the room around the large bed that dominated the space, then ducking low and looking out through the fading light to see if they’d already been spotted. “Every zombie in the area will be able to see us here come morning!” For now, at least, the calm, residential street seem deserted.

Deena sighed, exasperated. “Trust me, Patrick. They’re called blinds—duh.” She demonstrated by pulling a thin white cord that hung from the side of the window. A white curtain formed of wooden slats cascaded from the top to the bottom, shutting out the night.

“Plus,” she added as she pulled down the second set, “Come morning, we will be able to see every zombie in the area.” She grinned, and then reached out with both hands miming a gun shooting through the third and final window, before pulling the blinds closed there as well.

“Well haven’t you just thought of everything,” said Patrick with a knowing smile as he turned back and  brushed the dust off the otherwise perfectly made bed. He swung his large backpack around off his shoulder and another dust cloud rose into the air, thick enough to see in the dark. Deena sneezed, and he shot her a warning glare.

“Relax, Patrick. We’re as safe as safe can be in this place. Look,” she fingered the dress of a doll that had been set up and displayed on a wall shelf, “We can even play Barbies if you get bored later. What else could you want?”

Patrick sighed, and began unpacking some supplies for the night. First, his knives—always at the top of his pack—3 large carving blades, and a hunting knife he’d pulled from the skull of a fallen zombie just last night on the next street over. Finders keepers. But it was a bad sign: dead zombies meant other survivors in the area, and while it was impossible to tell how long ago the rotting corpse had been put down, it was best to be on guard, and always be on the move.

Patrick glanced at Deena now, she was cradling her flashlight and tilting back and forth on a rocking chair near the back of the room, a dusty Care Bear on her lap, she was glancing around at the bizarre collages of faded celebrity photos and magazine advertisements that covered the walls. Deena, he knew, yearned for a place to settle down. She pretended to be all fierce battle tactics and expert marksmanship, but he often heard her crying at night, and he knew she missed her family. Patrick could not afford such sentimentality if they were going to survive.

“Come on,” he urged her, “Let’s get some sleep. Who knows what tomorrow might bring."