A Short Story : A Story?

It was a cold and foggy wednesday morning on june 10th. Hunter was sleeping on his bed when he heard his mom call him.

I started to walk away from the tournament, I wanted to get away, to think. No one ever seems to care how I felt. I walk to the barn slowly so Curly wouldn't notice I was leaving when I saw Lennie. I needed to talk to someone, to actually have a really conversation with someone. I kept to my slow pace til he looked up at me. Then, he covered something up in the hay.

Lucy has these visions and feelings that make her call her mother back home, and tell her that she remembers the taste of her mother’s milk, and the thousands and many more kisses on her

A trickle of fear had her lying motionless with her eyes closed, straining to hear the slightest noise. A deep sigh of regret and the pressure of a body by her side made her acutely aware that she wasn’t alone.

It had just opened, but was already swarmed with people. “She’s my favorite. I love her breads and spreads.”

Gilbert noticed Anne's state of rumination and slowly sat down next to her. "Anne," he began in an

“Though, I can see you’re doing a lot of that right now.” He eyed her position and chuckled darkly. Clary turned away from him and closed her eyes, choosing to ignore his presence. “We don’t have to of course,” he continued. “Though, I will have to tell father your stubbornness is showing again, and I know for a fact he isn’t in a good mood today.”

"What do you -- " Moya stopped as she recalled the shadows she’d seen at school that afternoon and the strange whispering in her head.

“Hey, Peter,” Swan said in that sly voice of hers as I greeted her at the farmhouse’s backdoor. “Beautiful morning isn’t it?”

Suddenly, Dreamcatcher remembered everything. The reason he was so worried before, was because he has seen this recurring character in his dreams. Often, she wouldn’t be doing anything. She would just… watch. It was incredibly unnerving, but for the longest of times, he would simply brush her off as just another figment of his increasingly troubled imagination.

Someone’s touching my face; gently running long fingers through my hair and down the side of my cheek. It feels good, comforting. I stir, waking up to an achy body I wish I didn’t own. I groan, rolling away. The word, angel, is softly repeated over and over again.

Gregg lay on his bed, hands covering his face. Tommy was dead. Shot in cold blood by Maynard. A man he thought was his friend. He killed his friend, Tommy without a flinch. Would Maynard also shoot him? He supposed not, because he was Frank Daggott’s son. But Gregg didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be a part of any killing. Gregg wished he was with Julia. Where was she? There was no reason why she wasn’t here. There may come a time that he’d have to dump her. Just like his old man dumped women, Gregg could easily be like that too.

*Ding* The phone lights up. It reads 12:00 A.M. “Where is he?” Sarah asks herself. She’s been sitting by her window in her room, looking out at the road. It was quiet, except for the occasional car passing by. She’s been waiting here for about two hours, waiting for Sam. They met each other online, and have been together for three months. The first time they met was at a cafè. It was a bit awkward, because Sam didn’t necessarily look like he did online. On his profile, his hair was nicely cut, gelled to the side. In real life, it seemed like he hadn’t gotten a haircut in months, his hair almost to the bottom of his ears. On the profile, his skin was a nice, toffee-colored tan. In front of Sarah, his skin was a pale color. Sure, Sarah was surprised, but as they talked, she didn’t mind the looks. Now, three months later, she’s waiting for him on a Sunday night to go to a park.

Hazel peered into the mirror, examining every inch of herself; long caramel hair cascading around her shoulders, cold green eyes, thin pretty face, slim figure, green dress falling to her knees, one sleeve wrapping around her right shoulder like a toga. A shimmering dress, that was worthy of prom.

His ankles were so broken that the bone was sticking out making a puddle of blood.