Isolated. How else was I supposed to feel? Lost maybe? How was I supposed to cope with a decision I knew I wasn’t a part of. The sound of the rolling tires against the highway asphalt fused with the sound of the humming from the car engine. I had just spent a week in Yosemite as part of an 8th grade trip and had come back to realize that my parents had bought a brand new house. It was all excitement and happy smiles until my dad told me the location of this new house... “Fremont.” The words rebounded
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The night sky was clouded with a tired haze‚ sending the city into an emotional collapse of anything exciting. Even the typically wild taxi services buzzed with boredom‚ and the street lights sent any bystanders into a mental slumber. With bland weather‚ came bland people‚ who had many things to accomplish while the rest of the city folk were caught in the whirlwind of disinterest. Genevíve Luther was one of those bland people‚ and she indeed had many things to accomplish that evening. Though‚ those
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Clang! A mountain of falling goblets and dirty silver platters pierces my ear drums and I instantly wake. As the pungent odor of boar wafts through the air and my eye catches a beam of the mid-morning sun‚ I realize that I failed to return from the mead hall. That could prove to be a costly mistake. “This isn’t an inn‚ Cathasach‚” said Judoc‚ my friend‚ the hall’s keeper and‚ fortunately‚ Amoorhi’s finest chef. “Have clemency‚ brother! I am still weary from last evening’s battle against the
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Though scorching‚ her hands did not react‚ the skull of her mate‚ her lover‚ her friend in life. His hand reached into the wicker basket removed two large red stones‚ placed a stone in each of the skull’s eye sockets. They began to glow‚ intensifying until they became fiery red staring into her eyes and soul. She breathes in the fragrance of incense and that of the cauldron’s brew‚ most pleasurable among fragrances her mate’s blood covering her body in its most natural state. She brought it to her
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David: Welcome Thomas‚ we are very glad you came. Thomas: Thanks! I am happy to be here. David: We invited you here to ask you questions about your last several weeks during the trials. These trials must had been very hard on you and your friends. Thomas: Yes‚ those weeks were the hardest times of my life‚ and the only ones I can remember. David: Why is that? Thomas: When WICKED first gathered all of their test subjects‚ they erased most of our memories. We could remember the names of objects
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JORGE One night in Jamaica‚ a warm breeze rustled the trees‚ they seemed to whisper to him. As night fell‚ he watched the sun set and tried to count the stars. Jorge sat watching as the stars appeared in the sky. He couldn’t count‚ so high and decided and closed his eyes. Jorge leaned his head back into his palms and sighed. He was sprawled out on the cool grass. He patted his dog beside him. It would soon be time for dinner and he must go in and help his grandmother prepare the family meal
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My life begins here in Brownsville‚ Texas. However‚ I was only there from the beginning when I was a newborn before going back to Matamoros‚ Tamaulipas where my family had their own house. My mom wanted to have me in the U.S. because people had told her that there were far more opportunities over here. Technically‚ these two cities have become my two homes. I do miss Matamoros‚ Tamaulipas because that’s where I spend most of my childhood until I was seven years old. Then we had to return back to
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with blue roofs but still manages to look dark and mysterious and has an eerie feel surrounding it. It is long and on half of it is about 10 floors high with little towers coming out above the main roof‚ the other half is lower down‚ only about 5 stories high‚ with a large watch tower in the middle of that section. It houses my aunt‚ uncle and their daughter‚ my cousin and a few other families. For the last few days I’ve been walking to their estate as I am moving there to live with them because my
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Howardsville‚ a quaint little city‚ nestled in the foothills of the Putney Mountains located forty miles southwest of Charleston‚ West Virginia‚ had its own dark history. Having lived his entire life in the two–story house on the outskirts of town‚ Ernest Cassidy was familiar with the myths‚ legends‚ and lies about his city and was always quick to defend it. The mysteries began years earlier when Dr. Ronald Hackney; a surgeon at General Hospital in Charleston came up missing. One morning‚ he didn’t
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Long‚ keen‚ metallic knives felt to have been perforating the entirety of my being‚ although predominantly piercing my heart and soul‚ for what felt to be an eternity’s duration of time; however‚ only a few‚ mere seconds had transpired. “Oh‚ Mr. Gregory‚” the maniac began‚ resurrecting his voice with a condescending tone. “You despicable‚ ugly man‚” he continued; and as he did so‚ Gregory maintained his chins high and proud position‚ and spat scarlet-red blood onto the stage before him‚ where he
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