A Short Story : A Story?

Dmitri stops and says, “No, it was not one of my coworkers; we only want one thing, and once we get it, you will never have to worry about me

“why?” He questioned. What was this, an interrogation? I thought his first reaction would be to scream. I'm surprised he hasn't already tried.

“It felt like … like… it was real” he whispered. He began patting his upper body checking for bullet wounds.

As Jenna stood there drenched in the oniony stench of the cafeteria's chili, all she could think about was how she was going to get revenge on Taylor Everly.

She had long waist-lengthed hair was the color of a soleless midnight sky, her bangs chopped just a little above her forehead, and she had never smiled under any circumstances. Summer sat at the edge of her front porch on an old rocking chair, staring into the empty fields of darkness beyond her home. The world around her was sustained, it was what she needed. Looking up at the stars hoping that her beloved would be in this world somewhere. All she wanted was her lost husband at war to come back, she wanted Hitler to end his terrible thoughts and everything to return to normal.

All of James' life he thought that he was just a simple man and that he would die, perfectly ordinary, in his small village. For 18 years he had lived life as it came to him, growing up in Thornwood. His life was peaceful and dull. Every day since he was young he gathered edibles and alchemy ingredients from the forest, to be sold at a small price. It was an easy job that he was good enough at, but for a long time, he had held a secret dream, to leave this place. If only he had more money, more power, he could do whatever he wanted.

The morning light shined bright, the breeze blew softly. A perfect day in utopia. This was also the day Kristina Baker ended the lives of four young citizens. She lived a wonderful life, until she murdered the family on her twenty-first birthday. Kristina Baker graduated high school winning the title of Class Valedictorian, started multiple foundations and charities to support cancer awareness, and went on to attend Harvard University. With beautiful lemon blonde hair, everyone envied her at school.

75 miles per hour. 80...85. Grave pressed on the gas. 100 miles per hour. They had to drive him into a corner. They had to keep him contained. But where?.... Grave watched the car in front of him take a left. He spoke into his radio,

“Yoongi, we know you’re in there. Unlock the door.” The blond heard a voice (Jin’s? He wasn’t sure.) call from outside. Yoongi was sitting with his back against the tiled bathroom wall with his legs pulled up to his chest and his forehead resting on his knees, attempting to steady his breathing and slow the pounding in his chest. How he got this way, he wasn’t sure. He’d been examining himself in the mirror and then oh god.

Hetty brought a tortoise the day after her daughter died. Her only daughter, as it turned out. Her only daughter and her only tortoise, as it had also turned out. That was almost twenty years ago. The tortoise, Bertram, was, all these years later, still going strong. Still ambling around the house like an old man with dementia, bumping into furniture, getting lodged beneath furniture and nibbling said furniture in case it turned out to be as edible (or more edible) than it appeared. Sometimes, often in fact, he would creep up behind Hetty while she was doing the washing up or making breakfast, lunch or dinner and she was now in the habit, had been for approximately nineteen and a half years, of checking where she was putting her feet before moving away from the sink, the cooker or the kitchen surface, or anywhere else she had been standing still for longer than a couple of minutes, so as to prevent herself from feeling Bertram’s hard carapace beneath her foot, or worse, hearing the soft crunch of that carapace being crushed beneath her shoe.

I am in my room third floor of my building. I sit on my bed and reflect the incidents that transpired months before; however, the emotional scars still wrap around my body like tape squeezing harder and harder. I sit for what seems like hours, however, when I check my alarm clock, only four minutes seem to pass by. This has been recurring recently, I can't help but feel trapped in my mind like i'm my own puppet. I am abruptly jolted by the knock that lands on my door, I hear a woman's voice call out “Mrs. Rodgers?” A shiver goes through my spine a name I left that has come back to haunt me. I get out of my room to investigate, I am greeted by an older woman at my door. As I get closer I realize she is actually quite young but she has bags under her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks.

It’s an average summer day, the wind is blowing, but it’s still humid. I am helping my dad get the dishes done so I can go outside and play on my swingset. As my dad opens the windows and turns off the air conditioner, the warm breeze fills the room and the smell is enticing. My mom’s flower garden is full of flowers, and I can smell them all throughout the house. Roses, daylilies, sunflowers, and peonies mix with the smell of baby powder and baby food. I was trying my hardest to ignore the smells that remind me that Paige is still just a baby. As a five year old child, a three year old sister is not exactly what I wanted. She began to scream and I want it to stop.

The scrumptious smell of his requested Bagel-Bites filled his lungs as he entered their kitchen. The elated feeling in his stomach went away quickly as he saw his mother leaning on the counter, crying into her hands.

It was the smell of smoke that was the reason I awoke on that dreadful night.The smoke was not from that of a candle nor of a fire, but rather the heavy pungent smoke from a cigarette.The unmistakable scent sent shivers racing up my spine and memories seeping into my brain.In the 25 years, I have lived only one individual I had encountered smoked strawberry cigarettes.I sat silently and pleaded that I was still dreaming, that the scent was conjured up by my imagination.And when I finally did sit up in bed I let out a blood-curdling scream.Standing in the doorway of the room watching me intently was my father.

“MASON! Can you come down here please?” I heard my mom scream for the 10th time. I ran down the stairs to see what she needed. “What do you need mom?” I asked. “So what are you doing for your summer job? Are you still going to help out around the campground? We do have new people coming you can help them.” She wondered. “Mom do we really have to talk about this again? Why do I need to get a job? I can help out around the house like I always do and I can still enjoy my summer doing that.” I said started to get annoyed. “Mason you need to get a job and start earning your own money. How about Barns and Noble? You don’t know how to read anyways maybe they can teach you.” She shot back. “Hahaha mom so funny. I’ll go check it out after I finish unpacking.”