“ Don’t forget your curfew is at 11 so call me when the party’s over Ava.” “ Yea yea I know‚” I said. It was a friday night in Hayfork‚ a quiet town that no one knew about. No one came to the town‚ and no one ever left. That night‚ I was walking with my friend Liam to a birthday party. It gets really creepy at night so I had begged my mom to let him accompany me. It took about 15 minutes to walk there but that didn’t stop me. “ It’s okay Mrs.Kimberly‚ Ava’s my best friend‚ I would never let anything
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I guess Ivy will stay in my imagination“ he laughed lightly. I played dumb looking at his arm where he had a tattoo of the Ivy. He was trying to light up the mood. „You know I had that dream once that we had an intercourse and after we talked about our future. We talked about our kids. You wanted a girl named Ivy.“ He was still holding me and the tears were already ready to fall and I did not care anymore as I was dying. He tattoed a name Ivy below his heart. Not his name‚ not my name‚ not my date
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watched him approach. I’ve never seen him before. He looks so serious‚ what is h.. before I could finish my thoughts I felt his hand grabbing my neck. "Do you know what time is it‚ little lady? Have you seen any other female walking here at this time of night? You’re in my hood‚ little lady‚ I’d feel guilty if one of my "gorillas" do something bad to you." He took his hand off and sincerely apologized. I told him I don’t speak his language very well which made him even more angry. "Crazy idiot
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That day was not an ordinary day‚ I knew that from the start- but what I didn’t anticipate was that my whole week would have the same feeling. A flutter feeling that you get about something that you have already done before‚ feeling like it’s about to be the first time that you have done it. The ring of the phone was the first thing I heard that day‚ the ring that belonged to the call that started it all. ‘Hello‚’ I mumbled as I was still half a sleep. ‘Hello‚’ the person replied‚ there voice
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Luminous were the lights as they shone upon the golden masks of the dancing party guests. Women gracefully glided across the ballroom‚ the slow‚ rhythmic “click clack” of their heels echoing throughout the space‚ as their gowns twirled nonchalantly around their bodies‚ accentuating the soft yet striking colors of their dresses. They firmly clutched onto their partner’s shoulder‚ as if afraid that they would fall‚ and their partners in turn held a firm grip around their waist. Snap. And just like
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CRASH. SCREEECH-BANG! Many protesting and angry yells went up into the pale NYC morning sky‚ caused by what looked like a small‚ red‚ and motorized wagon. It looked like this because that was exactly what it was. This “Motor-wagon” was piloted by a young-ish‚ tall-ish‚ and mostly bald man named Evan Victor Ite-Laught. Anyway‚ the sources of the yells were victims of a small red blur of dents‚ scratches‚ and crashes careening around the corner somewhere around 20 miles/hour too fast. Evan was in a
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use of the poetic speaker in dramatic monologues allows him to objectively create a dramatic situation while removing himself as a personality from the poem. This is accompished through a process called double masking‚ in addition to the primary creation of the character or speaker‚ there exists a secondary creation‚ a mask which the speaker uses in dealing with the dramatic situation at hand (Garratt 116). The nature of the poetic speaker in Browning’s dramatic monologue demonstrates an authentic replication
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Bella pov "What is that?’’ One of the women asked in a soft voice as her hand shot up to cover her mouth. I did my best to pulling it out of Jame’s hand. But he tightened his grip on my tail. "It’s a tail!" Laughed a man with white blonde hair. "Can I feel it?’’ Asked the same women. It’s caught my attention‚ my eyes snapped to her. They wanted to feel my tail? My blood started to boil with anger as she stepped forward. My eyes darken and I pulling against my bonds‚ bearing my teeth at her hissing
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My father trotted up to the dart game‚ like he was a big shot. I requested if I could play at least once. He said “sure thing.” As I walked up to the stand with the dart already on the table‚ I thought I was ready to throw it at the rubbery balloon. I closed my dark brown eyes and squinted very tight at the only balloon I wanted. With my trembling arm I tossed the dart at the balloon‚ but I “wamm.” I had popped the wrong one. Dad started to play the game‚ trying to win me the certain fluffy white
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“Once upon a time…” Sitting in my chair‚ looking at my vanity. I sat there waiting for my third sister to retrieve me for the ball that the Duke was having. I looked at the liar in the mirror. She wasn’t bad looking‚ long brown hair twisted by the maids‚ feathers adorned her she again‚ this year she was an owl‚ one of those pretty barn owls that live in my bird collection. My dress was a mess of brown and white feathers‚ I stared at the mirror and the only thing that always catches me is the sad
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