A Short Story : A Story?

Zoe dug through the bin, reasonably at first but grew franticly the longer she went down. Kevin at first stood off, watching the clothes fly out the donation bin.

The sun was high in the sky, gleaming down on us. The air was breezy, but not cold. The day was ordinary, or so it seemed. But what was out of place? That would be my brother, the only person who could possibly get himself into such a situation, with his impossible ability to almost die, but just miss the mark. As he sat there on the ground with his back to us, legs sprawled out in front of him, we didn’t even realize that there was anything wrong. Hold on a second. Let’s rewind this just a little.

First, Mrs. Rozema was looking at me creepily for the whole class almost everyday, second, She was in Mr. Froghart's class this morning, and finally she wanted me to come to her house today. I was really scared. I wondered what her house would be like. I rode my bike to her house. The house was really messy from the outside. The lawn wasn’t mowed and the leaves were not raked. I walked to the door and rang the door-bell. I heard footsteps coming closer and closer. Finally they stopped. The door slowly opened. Then a merry man came in front of me. "Hello young lady," he said. I replied back with a "Hi!" "You must be Lizzy!" he said, "Mrs. Rozema is my wife and she told me she you were going to come." I walked in and the man led me upstairs. I walked in and saw Mrs. Rozema. She was sitting on a bed writing something. Just as she heard me come in she hid her little notebook. She asked me to sit down and she started to talk about my grades. She started side tracking about how blood smells so good. I had keep reminding her that I came to talk about my grades. Then she would say she was sorry and go back to History. This happened many times. It was so weird. Then she said she would be right back and went into the bathroom in her bedroom. I saw her notebook she was writing in. I took it out and found the page she was writing on. It was a bunch of random letters and numbers. I quickly took a picture of it on my phone. Then the lights just turned off. I didn’t know what to do so I went down stairs to ask Mr. Rozema what had happened. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I didn’t find anyone in the house. I just left the house. and rode

I whinced as he brushed trough the tangles. I'm supposed to brush my hair but Master likes to do it so I let him.

Ethan wasn’t certain what woke him a few hours later. Perhaps it was the silence of the house, or the faint creaking from the steps. Sitting up, he grabbed the knife from the stand as he got out of bed. His heart was racing in his chest as he leaned against the closed door, waiting to hear the werewolf’s harsh breath. No huffing breath filled his ears as he reached up and opened the door. Peering out into the hallway, he saw the light at the end on.

Pick up the pencils Jeremy!" Mrs. Martin sneered, "pick them up right now!" Enveloped in a blanket of space and darkness, Jeremy could hear nothing but the small voices inside of him, and he had no idea that his teacher was trying to speak. Unaware of everyone's presence in the room, Jeremy continued to stare at the ground and mutter to himself. Finally, Mrs. Martin lightly grabbed onto his shoulders and shook him gently. As if waking up from a bad dream, Jeremy jerked from side to side, reaching for anything that would protect him.

Blaire shakes his head and locks his work in the left drawer of his desk. “Jeep,” he mutters under his breath, “Why is it a fucking Jeep.” He tucks the key back in his pocket and follows Richard out the door.

Louis sighed looking inside the sack. Half a biscuit and some crumbled crackers. He knew it was for a prisoner but he still felt that there should be more. But he shook his head and continued down the hall towards the cell. He didn’t know who the prisoner was. All he was told was that the prisoner was bilingual and was a messenger for the enemy.

On a casual day, on the first week of October, a twelve year old, going by the name of Joshua Stephenson, was getting kicked out of his home. Again. His 6th foster parent couple, angry and disappointed, discarded him after what happened at school.

“I didn’t do it. I swear! It was those little kids. You may be wondering what I did. Why I was in a freezing cold dungeon, or possibly feeling bad for me. Well, I’ll tell you the whole thing.” I say.

“Mom, you’re not making any sense,” Herthe admitted. “Just tell the truth and get that weight off your shoulders. You always told me that, did you not? Besides, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

Now Jungkook had seen many interesting and strange things in his life. Skinny dippers, seaweed enthusiasts, people attempting to hold octopi, etc. However, catching someone in his fishing net was not something that had ever happened before. He stood there on the old dock, gaping at the captured boy.

Tears pour out as I sob uncontrollably. I walk around with grief and regret. I drag my feet along the chilly floor wandering around the house as if I was lost. I hold onto my pounding heart as tears fall from my eyes nonstop. I grasp the knob that leads to an empty room. I stare at the dull pink walls surrounding the room that used to be filled with joy and happiness, but it’s now a quiet place filled with dread. The whole house was filled with despair. I completely zone out and stumble upon a rock solid bed. Curling up I buried my tear stained face into a soft and fluffy pillow. Slowly my body starts to fall into a deep sleep. That night I did not have a breathtaking dream, but instead a memory. A memory that would forever leave a profound bruise on my soul.

Lucy, startled, sat bolt upright in bed. She stood there puffing for a moment, before lying back down, the old bed creaking under her weight. Her mind was racing. The strange woman in her dream seemed so familiar that she could have sworn it was -

Wind whistled through the partially opened driver-side window of Beth’s Volkswagen Jetta as Peter steered the car north along Interstate-91. The Eddie Vedder channel played through the Blue Tooth on Beth’s Pandora station. The Pearl Jam front man crooned a few verses from Daughter as Beth and Peter sang along, reminiscing about the 1990’s, their carefree college years when the world was exciting and new. Peter felt a rush of excitement when Beth offered to let him drive her car. In his mind, it was a sign that their relationship was deepening; it must mean something that she trusted him to drive her car. He had offered to take his Civic, but Beth needed the Thule rack on the roof of her Jetta to transport her racing bicycle.