In creative writing, crime as a genre often explores moral tension, danger, psychological stakes, and the darker edges of human behaviour. It pushes the writer to build suspense, create believable characters under pressure, and show how ordinary people react in extraordinary circumstances. Crime fiction can range from traditional mysteries to thriller to gritty realism, but at its core, it’s about the moment when something goes wrong, and someone chooses whether to step forward, freeze, or run.

I enjoyed playing around with the notion of crime much more than I had expected I would. Creative writing, after all, is also about freedom of expression, the freedom to explore, to make mistakes, to discover new corners of your imagination, and to surprise yourself along the way.

Below is the piece I created for this week’s writing exercise. It’s dark, tense, and written from the perspective of a six-year-old boy named Jack.

When Green Goblin Came to My School

My head snapped up.
What was that?
It wasn’t a bang. More like someone clapped their hands right beside my ear, sharp and loud. Then everything went quiet, apart from the rumble of my pencil rolling off the art table. Jill whispered, “What was that?”
Nicky looked freaked out. “Jack, what was that?”
“I don’t know.”
But my tummy felt like I bet Spider-Man’s does when he hears a danger noise. The kind that means something bad is gonna happen.
Mrs. Ryan had told us to wait in the Art Room, but she was taking forever. It was just the three of us in the “creating room” in the middle of the school.
Then came another noise, low but heavy. Like the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk dragging his feet while wearing metal boots. Jill grabbed my sleeve. Nicky froze with a paintbrush in her hand, like she forgot what paint was.
Screams burst out down the hallway. I think I heard Mrs. Ryan yelling, “Everyone stay down, hide!” Then another loud clap shook out.
Nicky whispered, “We need to hide.”
She pointed to the big wooden art cupboard with the squeaky hinges, but she opened it super slow so it didn’t squeak at all. It smelled like glue and paint inside.
I crawled in first, then Jill, and then Nicky pulled the door almost shut. We were squished together, knees everywhere, breathing too loud.
Footsteps.
Heavy ones.
The screaming had stopped. The silence felt wrong, like when the Green Goblin snuck up on Spider-Man.
Jill started to cry. Nicky held her hand.
I whispered, “It’s okay. I have something.”
I usually have marbles. But this time it was something else.
I slid out of the cupboard. Nicky grabbed my arm. “Don’t go.”
I didn’t answer.
My Spider-Man backpack was under a table, half tipped over. I lay on my tummy and pulled it close.
Nicky and Jill watched through a crack in the cupboard door.
“Jack… what are you doing?” Jill whispered, her face wet.
“Daddy keeps it in the wardrobe,” I whispered back. “He says I’m the man of the house when he’s at work. So it’s okay.”
The footsteps reached the doorway.
A man stepped in.
He looked like a pale, real-life Green Goblin — everything dark, eyes searching, holding the biggest gun I’d ever seen. Way bigger than Daddy’s.
The villain-man crept farther in, scanning the room.
My hands shook as I tried to pull the gun’s metal piece back. My fingers were too small.
Then a crack split the room.
Green Goblin screamed, grabbing his leg before crashing into paint trays.
Voices thundered down the hall. Police stormed in, shouting, tackling him.
No one noticed me at first.
I stood there, small and quiet, the gun drooping in my hand.
A policewoman knelt. “Sweetheart… can I have that?”
I frowned. “It’s for show-and-tell. It’s Daddy’s.”
She smiled gently. “Can I borrow it?”
I nodded and handed it over like a crayon. Then I opened the cupboard.
“You can come out now,” I told Jill and Nicky. “I got the baddie.”
The End

Thank you for following along as I explore different genres and challenge myself creatively. 
Next week, I’ll be sharing my piece for the theme: Relationships.

I’m excited to see where that journey takes me. I’ll keep you updated.