sound of sirens rushes across the school parking lot. The heat from the pavement causes the emergency vehicles to waver surreally‚ as if they’re an illusion speeding toward me. I stand numbly next to the wreckage as the firefighters hurry forward to free the lady trapped inside her car. The kid who rolled off the side of the bleachers screams as the paramedics lift him onto a stretcher. His leg is twisted at an odd angle. It’s definitely broken. Coach points to me‚ and I’m cornered by a pair of medical
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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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The graveyard was dark and shadowed; tulips lined the cobblestone pathway that led to the mausoleum‚ looming darkly against the feeble moon. I strode through the graveyard‚ glancing nervously around at the shadows that lay thick upon the graves like a shroud. Tulips‚ protruding like withered stakes from the ground‚ lined the pathway‚ and I could smell their sickly-sweet odor as I approached the mausoleum‚ looming above me like a forbidding monument to the feeble moon above. “Rachel!” I cried out
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‘twas the night before hike-mas. I had begrudgingly agreed to go to bed before 10‚ even though I insisted that I could stay up later and still be okay in the morning. I was all packed. I had packed plenty of water‚ water‚ water‚ and even more water. I had snacks. I had lots of sunscreen on‚ and lots of sunscreen in my backpack‚ although there’s only so much sunscreen can do. I had anxiety about a couple of things. One of those things was my fear of snakes‚ and the other was my fear of heights. I
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throbbing arms down to his side. Unable to move them‚ he looks up to find his hands were tied together above his head. Tracing the rope with his eyes‚ he sees it’s looped around a hook hanging down from a small ceiling rafter. Steve tried to wiggle free‚ but soon realizes the restraints tighten with every movement. Using all of his weight‚ he pulls down on the ropes‚ hoping he could break the small ceiling beam. No matter how hard he tried the board wouldn’t crack. He started pulling on it a second
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In Albert Camus’ short story "The Guest‚" Camus raises numerous philosophical questions. These are: does man have free will?‚ are an individual’s decisions affected by what society demands‚ expects‚ neither‚ or both?‚ and finally‚ how does moral and social obligation affect decision making? Balducci brings the Arab to Daru’s door‚ informing Daru that "I have an order to deliver the prisoner and I’m doing so‚" (90) thus freeing Balducci of the responsibility over wherever the Arab ultimately ended
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its scars. This short story is told from the perspective of someone obviously close to Marais because of the in depth feeling portrayed in the content of the story. As an example the narrator is talking about the effects that the accidental killing is going to have on Marais’s political and social life. Also‚ the shadow that has been caste over South Africa will continue to grow with the negative publicity an accident of this magnitude brings with it. "He knows that the story of the Afrikaner
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Short Story Elements by Caroline Wilmovsky Introduction and Thesis: A short story is a story with a fully developed theme‚ but significantly shorter and less elaborate than a novel. A short story is normally fiction‚ meaning‚ it’s made up. It focuses on one or two main characters and on a single conflict or problem. To comprehend a short story you have to look for four different elements: the setting‚ character‚ theme‚ and plot. The setting refers to the place‚ time‚ and date of a story. The literary
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As I walked my fingers across the brown flimsy opening of the cardboard box my other hand reached for my tattered old teddy‚ I’d had him ever since I can remember – he was a gift from my aunt Elizabeth. While my hands were holding the bear a tidal wave of memories came rushing back into my mind of the moments that him and I shared‚ alas they are now just memories. I don’t recall why but ive always known my tattered teddy as peter‚ I guess I just thought he looked like a peter. His fur used to be
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Bottled up Inside Word Count: 343 Footsteps ran up the stairs‚ followed by a slamming door. Wendy followed behind trying to calm her daughter down until she was standing face-to-face with the closed door. “Stevie‚ let me in now. I want to help. Please just let me know what’s going on‚ I can’t help unless you talk to me.” Wendy pleaded behind the door “Leave me alone Mum‚ I don’t want to talk about it‚ I just want to be on my own.” Sobbed Stevie in reply “Darling please let me in…. I have
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