9/11 English Short Story

There was a bright flash of light, a vague pulling sensation at my core, and then I was standing in the middle of a magic circle. The circle was drawn in dark purple chalk, had a thin white candle at each of the five points, outlined in a sickly yellow glow, and once again, I was standing in the middle of it.

Before I knew it, his chest was against my left shoulder. This time hurt more than the last. It stung, it burned, it made my chest ache and ache, but it was not nearly as painful as the ache I felt knowing I was a puddle. My breath was knocked from my lungs in a haze of onyx, swirling smoke, engulfing my vision before dissipating and leaving me to deal with the aftermath of his attack. I was forced backwards again (again, again, time after time, my life was running in circles, I was a broken, repeating record, again, again, AGAIN). I felt his teeth on my neck again, multiple bites, some stinging and some bruising. But after having felt his teeth before, they did not hurt as much as the second time. I figured this attack would be a rehash of the one that preceded it, but Volterra proved to pull a bit of creativity out on me. The earth beneath my left hind hoof moved up and sent the rest of my body falling to the right, the force of his chest aiding my

I walk downstairs in light blue high waisted shorts and a white tank top with cowgirl boots.

As kids, we were all warned about the basics. Call 911 for emergencies, tell an adult if someone touches you or even tell the teacher when someone says a bad word. But what happens when something happens to the last person you’d think it would happen to.. Yourself. Who could you actually turn to, and when the time struck, how would the words flow out to confess the crime done to you. Or even worse, would the words come out at all? “Can you tell me what happened exactly?” “It's okay to talk to us, we’re here to help you, not hurt you.” The words kept ringing in my head. But was it okay to talk to them? Speak of the unspeakable with people... people I didn't know, nor trust? Being so young I had no idea what was going on. As my heart was racing,

BEEP! BEEP! “Already,” James moaned. “I thought I had the snooze set for thirty minutes.” James thought to himself. Before he could even get out of bed, James's mother swung open the door so hard that he could have sworn she made a dent in the wall. “JAMES! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR SCHOOL AGAIN! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK, AND IT IS ONLY WEDNESDAY!” James quickly sprang up from his bed and began to apologize until he was interrupted as she continued to give him a lecture. She calmed down but then proceed to sass with, “Not only are you late, but your room has also seemed to be hit with a tornado. I want this cleaned up after you come home from school or else I’ll be sure you can’t feel your behind after I am done with you.” James

"Ay, Sparkley-Dick I need that Thauma-thingy of yours.. Well my chat told me I need it for some shit"

All I wanted was moments with my mom when I was nine; I did not get it. What about age ten, eleven, and twelve? My whole childhood was snatched out from under me, and I had to grow up way to fast. Don’t worry, I did not blame you. I blamed myself until I was fifteen. It was my fault my mother tried to drown my sisters and me. I saw signs and clues. I could tell she was not acting herself, but I said nothing. I didn’t go and ask another grownup for help. I put my sisters’ lives in danger, because I didn’t protect them.

"This is 911, what is your emergency?" A desperate eleven year old girl tried to answer the operator's question, but all I could manage were sobs.

Claire Alistar shifts in her seat to cross her right ankle primly over her left and readjusts her large, black sunglasses so that they sit farther down on her nose so that she looks even more unimpressed. "Beck got caught during a job in cicily? Really? Cicily?"

She had given this up. All of it. The path of the witches, she had decided, was not hers to take. Wielders of the gift were meant to maintain balance in a world of evil. But those same protectors had fallen prey to greed, pride and an overbearing lust for power. Bethany was raised on the stories of covens going to war and even siding with the monsters they had sworn to destroy. Beth had promised never to choose a side. And to fulfill her promise, she rid herself of her powers. So why was she here, staring at the tattered notebook that contained not only her history of witchcraft but also her magic? Pale, slender fingers flipped through the makeshift grimoire. The nightmares hadn’t stopped. They wouldn’t. Bethany was normally conscious enough to dream lucidly, but the dreams were spiraling out of control. She was aware of the old phrase, “if you die in your dreams you die for real”. That’s what frightened her. Every night she died. Her lack of magic made her vulnerable to attack. The identity of the attacker was unknown. But not

“Back when I was in school I was always fascinated, about stars and the planets.”

"Is it that hard to be serious for once?!" I yelled. Matt looked speechless. "You know what? Just forget about it." I sighed as I slammed the door behind me.

It was a day like any other, until Surai hears a piercing screech that slowly fades away. “Hey, did you guys hear that?” says Surai. “Yeah it sounded like a scream” replies Tooler. “I wonder who it was?” questions Mickey. All of them rush to the edge and discover nothing. They all say their goodnights and return to our rooms. They all go to sleep wondering who made that noise. The next day we wake up and find a load of people crowded on the deck. “It’s chaos” Surai says. Tooler goes up and asks Schmedrick what’s wrong. “Schmandon has gone missing, and a bunch of people thought they heard a scream last night” replies Schmedrick. Surai, Mickey, and Tooler then realize that it was Schmandon who made the scream last night. “I think that Schmandon

You’d like to say that it was some epic and heroic series of events that had finally ended you. That you had sacrificed your life to save your friends, but no. It was the boring old natural way of life that got you. You had cancer, and it was killing you.

Her body always feels cold, always feels fragile. That’s why someone else’s touch always feels so foreign to her.