A Short Story : A Story Of A Story From Me

When the clock struck 2:00, Herthe and the boy were walking away from the school and to their next destination. Unsurprisingly, the boy grew hungry, and Herthe decided that it was best to eat at a restaurant. Doing so, they would be able to bring leftovers home. Her phone made a “ding-ding” sound, indicating a text message. Herthe pulled her phone out of her pocket and found that Vivian sent her a message.

I could feel the stinging tears swelling up, I tried to hold them back, but with this pain I couldn't hold them back anymore, and I felt a tear roll down my red cheeks. All I thought was that my arm could be broken and even worse have wooden shards sticking out of my arm. I was so upset because I was in so much pain and all my brother and best friend at the time could do was laugh at me. But if i'm going to tell this story right, I have to go back to the beginning.

I walk through the grass by my tribe land. It’s warm like any other day. I carry my wet furs to the fireside and set them up to dry.

The boy’s father reached over and pulled his son closer to him and whispered “we do not ask questions like that? It might have embarrassed her.” Looking at Rachel, trying to judge what she was thinking.

Even before Mary Lennox even arrives at her new home, she finds herself resenting it. But what else could she do? The young girl had never experienced love or excitement. Medlock, trying to pass the time, asks her if she has a favorite story. With her arms folded across her chest, and her face scrunched to show wrinkles, Mary retorts to the Medlock, “My mother didn’t have the time to tell me stories.” The Medlock, she is surprised, but simply shakes her head and remains silent for the rest of the journey. Mary had come from India, where she lived with her neglectful parent until they tragically died in an earthquake. Mary is so emotionally damaged that she said “I was angry. I never cried. I didn’t know how to cry.” When her parents died, rumors spread that she did not show remorse. People called her odd. At the manor, Mary quickly gives herself the reputation of being a spoiled girl, as shown when she commanded Martha to dress her, and then called her unintelligent when Martha was trying to make a joke about Mary’s wardrobe colors, which happened to be black. Mary is upset, but Martha ends up introducing her to her younger brother Dickon, who becomes her first friend. Mary goes outside and finds a garden, and an old man. He asks her why she is here, and she replies and says, “Where’s the door?” Mary wants to find the key to the garden, as she is intrigued by it. The old man(his name is Ben) tells her that, “No one’s been inside that place for ten years,” referencing to the

Out of breath, her knuckles were bloodied and her throat was hoarse. Pain radiated through her shoulder and toes from the multiple times she slammed and kicked against the bolted entrance.

It was a summer day in July, the sun was shining bright and you could see the heat waves in the air. My friends Caleb, Javon, and I were heading to the mall. We were there for five minutes when we heard someone yell “Stop!” We turned and saw it was an officer, before we knew it we were all running. Caleb was in front with me and Javon trailing. I turned to look back at the officer he was overweight and his white uniform was already sticking to his body due to him sweating. We turned a corner and went inside a bathroom. We all looked at each other and started laughing. “Why’d you run?” I asked Caleb

A teen girl snuck into her apartment complex at noon. As she walked through the kitchen, her body froze. A part of her twitched, and before a plate could fall from her mother’s hands, she caught it.

I could use, so I just did one on John Cusack, he’s my favorite actor.”

“Fine, thank you. Have you found anything new about who murdered my mother?” Marlene asked.

Stories. We hear them all the time. For most of us, we’re introduced to the concept of storytelling from a very young age, when our parents would tell us bedtime stories. For others, we weren’t so lucky as to have had this privilege. I can most definitely say that I wasn’t one of those kids with this privilege, so what would I do instead? I would create my own stories, and relay them through my mind. Believe it or not, I got really good at storytelling. That is exactly why I’m going to tell you all a story today. Nothing ordinary, and nothing out-of-the ordinary. Simply, a story that you won’t be able to forget.

The days before were a blur. Grief filled the air around us. The one room everyone wanted to be in, sitting next to her, supporting her, waiting for her last breath.

Billy just stared at her puzzled. Creepy, scary, disturbing, grin freaked him out “Well I better go back to my room, it's getting late”. Suddenly the land lady's smile slowly faded, with a frown, she replied “what do you mean dear it just got dark”. Billy puts down his cup and says “ Well I've had a long day” Billy stated “okay dear have a Goodnight then.” Shuffling into his room feeling very strange. His hands are shaking, he could barely open the door. He sat down on his bed, he could hardly think straight. The drink left a strange, bitter taste in his mouth. He started to wonder about how both of them are still on the fourth floor. Wondering, thinking, reasoning, it confused him, he decided he was going to go take a look on the fourth floor to see if she was telling the truth.

“Momma?” Sylvia asked when she suddenly felt her mother let go of her hand. “Momma, where did you go?”

I was at New York, Brooklyn to be exact I was there to visit my families like my cousins my grandparents my aunts and my uncles. I was sleeping at my cousin's apartment I was cramped on the top bunk with my cousin Nadine she's the same age as me. Nadine and I were 10. finally, I woke up and so did Nadine we climb the ladder down to the living room which is right next to the bedrooms we slump on the couch and turn the tv on.