Suspense Story “I feel bad for Connor’s family. They must be so sad today‚” Sofia whispers. “Same. I can’t believe it has been a whole year since he was dancing at our studio.” “Ya‚ and a whole year since the… accident.” “Stop it‚ we promised we would never talk about it again.” Sofia leads Melissa into her bedroom. She took her laptop off her desk and sat down on her bed. She types in his name. Connor Shew. About a hundred articles start appearing on the screen. Young Boy Gone Missing‚ Family
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Ding‚ding‚ding‚ring. I hear my phone buzzing terrified to pick it up the laughing in the distance. I can hear Becca’s heels coming down the hallway. I’m trying to decide whether to run or stay there and take the wrath of her and her “minions.” Think Scarlet... too late. Becca is standing in front of me with her bleach blonde hair and minty breath. I can feel her eyes burning in my head. Scared looked up‚ she asks “ Have you seen your phone lately?” Laughs burst of behind me. Embarrassed I respond
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When their mother walked into the drawing room as she was practising her writing with Lilian‚ Marla immediately began to feel slightly anxious. She rarely came to see how any of her daughters lessons were going on‚ and when she did it was usually to give some sort of scathing evaluation. At only eight years old‚ Marla had started to try and develop a thick skin when it came to these comments‚ but still her heart began to beat a little quicker just at the sight of her. “Do come in‚Linnet‚” Taryn
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Was her desire to leave the flat miscommunicated? Did Darcy believe that the cause for her frantic pulling on his arm was caused by some other reason? Or was he so wrapped up in his own little world that she was just an annoyance to be dismissed with a wave of his hand? Apparently‚ she was! Why was it that every distraction known to man or beast‚ was set on detouring them? Since her youth‚ Olivia had never understood the purpose of ’small talk’ and could honestly say that she detested it. The asinine
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It wasn’t even this crowded the day my mother sold me for a bronze kettle. "Hurry‚ Schalane! The train is about to start!" cries Erik. Struggling to find his face through the sea of bobbing heads separating us‚ I falter for a moment. A wisp of his charcoal brown hair vanishes in the hurling throng. The thirty people behind me shuffle with impatience‚ dark scowls painted upon their faces. I should step back and let them ahead of me. That’s what a caring person would do. In my experience‚ however
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Screams echoed throughout the courtyard. Shrieks of pain drowned under an ocean of slaughter. It was a massacre‚ he said. A grizzled man stood silent amidst the song of clashing swords. Enamelled in black armour‚ a crimson velvet cape draped across his back swished silently in the wind. Clutching his bloodstained golden gilded broadsword firmly in his hand‚ he was. Friends and foe alike could see the gallant knight standing gloriously over his fallen victims. Without any warning‚ a blood-curling
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The weeds grew tall in the front garden of 6 Beach Hut Cottages. Clemmie picked her way with care along the rutted path as she didn’t want to trip and fall. After all‚ she would be no use with a sprained ankle‚ or worse still‚ a broken nose. When she reached the front step‚ she put her ear to the door. For a while‚ she listened for the clatter of pots and pans‚ a strident voice‚ or even a kettle whistle boil. But apart from the resounding thuds deep in her chest‚ there was no other sound. In fact
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Alice wrote furiously across her sheet‚ steam practically blew off where her pencil made contact with her paper. She had so much to say‚ yet so little time and space. As Alice set down her pencil‚ showing an air of being done‚ she looked around the classroom. Other students looked confused‚ as if the advanced algebraic equations were hard. Why were they so confused? She peered at the posters‚ all of which were covered with tacky math jokes‚ like‚ Pass your test‚ or be a ! She tried looked at her
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Don’t blame anyone. You brought this onto yourself. - What does that mean? - Don’t tell people you know me. I never want to see you again. But I hope one day you can forgive me. I’ve already forgiven you. I don’t want you anymore. Stay out of my life. Let’s go. Let’s go! Come on! Don’t just stand there! Zweli! - Open up! - Wait! Zweli! Zweli Maphumulo! No‚ no‚ no! Goodness! - What’s wrong? - Where’s my baby? Mumsy‚ you don’t greet‚ and then you ask me that? Smangele‚ I need to speak
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My monologue is written for a female character named Rebecca “Babe” Botrelle‚ she is a 24-year-old Caucasian female‚ and the youngest of three children. The socioeconomic status of the character is not mentioned throughout the play; but by using context clues they were pretty comfortable‚ so upper middle class‚ since she is the youngest of three children in the 1980s. In the scene‚ she is speaking to a lawyer about the events that transpired after she shot her husband Zackery. In the adaptation that
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