A Short Story : The Story Of The Capital City?

The city always seemed to push the stars farther away from the world in the dead of night. Rain had begun to sprinkle downtown and it began to trickle across the top of the parked cars in the street. Vernon was sitting there silently listening to the drizzle outside that sounded like pebbles falling on a tin roof, still thinking about the dreams his been having. The Coffee Cup was like any other diner nestled between apartments and liquor stores. There was seven cut-up stools and behind them against the wall sat a cigarette machine and no smoking sign. The counter was worn from years of service. Two booths sat facing the storefront windows

Outside, a deep silence fell over the neighborhood. This silence crept into every household. Members of the community had a guise of anger and pain expressed on their faces. Everyone locked themselves inside, to lament such a tragedy that has brought sorrow to a twelve years old’s family. Parents fell on their knees with tears in their eyes. This last murder represented the final straw. So many of their own had been murdered by the malicious, metallic, monsters that were supposed to be the defenders of their community. They felt insecure, threatened by the

My town has a way of sheltering me; it’s relative uniformity and low crime rates represent a different society than what appears in the media. But I read the news; I assumed I knew what the rest of the world was like. In reality, I had a muted perception of people’s lives in other places. It’s as if I were exempt from the effects of the violence and evils happening

I finish carving the tally into the leather strips wrapped around my forearm, the wind attempting to whip my braided hair into my face. I lean back against the brick building, staring at each tally.

The stone streets were a veil at this time of night, with who knows how many menacing horrors hiding behind the curtain. The lingering gas hovering over the ground was timid, dispersing at the sight of anyone who strayed near. The moon tried to pry into the city’s shadows, but it was too thick to cut. The buildings were nothing but faded memories: gray, eroded structures that once boasted splendor and beauty. Street rats, both rodent and human, scuttled about in the alleyways, knocking assortments over and fleeing if anyone walked past, just like the gas. A dog barked in the distance. Car horns blared on 5th Avenue nearby. Tank sighed. No place like home.

It was burnt to the ground and most had not gotten out. There was not a single person still living in the city, but I could still hear them. The screams of their last moments before the flames destroyed all were ringing in my ears. It got louder and louder as I sobbed. How could I let this happen? How could I not help all those people to save a tiny family that should even exist? Soon, after what felt like hours of crying, I looked out over the city once more. I could see the future of it being rebuilt and families returning to the once said place. What gave me the most comfort was seeing the small family of three helping all others the came in contact with. They and their descendants would help all, but be remembered by only

Please pause for a moment, and picture in your mind the washed away remnants of what used to be a seemingly insignificant city; it is rather difficult to recognize from all the earthquake rubble and debris that there once was a town here. Bits and pieces of what used to be homes are now scattered from one end of the view to the other. A gloomy haze of dust, smoke and ash have recently enveloped over the entire countryside. Sounds of screaming, yelling and crying are bombarding one’s hearing senses; a smell of unbelievable human decaying stench is so overwhelming, the odors stimulate the gag reflex and tear ducts to produce endless retching and a cleansing wash of foul air from one’s eyes. Hungry ownerless dogs are fighting over dead infant

Gray, nimbostratus clouds blanketed the L.A. skyline, the promise of rain becoming more of a threat with each passing hour. However, the bleak, November day suited Tom’s pensive mood, the impending storm mirroring the tumultuous thoughts brewing within his mind. After countless cups of coffee and only three hours’ sleep, he was on edge, caught in a web of his own making. He wandered in aimless circles around the living room floor, his pinched face showing clear signs of agitation, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. For the tenth time in less than five minutes, he glanced at the clock, unsure if he wanted his visitor to arrive or not. But despite his apprehension, he knew he needed to face his demons, and a gloomy

“I grew up there, thought I’d spend my entire life calling that city ‘Home.’ But it didn’t workout that way. I learned to love it here too,” Dustin told his neighbour’s grandkids, remembering the horrific event that tore him away from his home and ended his career. His neighbour, Sally, and her family were the only people who accepted Dustin; they shared something in common, the disaster. Sally lost her husband in the tragedy that destroyed Dustin’s once handsome face.

The flooded homes, scattered cars, and powerless streets drew the community together. I had never endured so much grief with a sense of togetherness as I did during this period. Somehow, the shattered world I was living in felt like more of a home than the one I know. While Mr. Moore distributed his collection of batteries to all in need, Mr. Quinn and Mr. Visnic cleared the road of tree branches so that Ms. Torello could move her car to safety. The Delises opened up their generator powered home, and provided a fresh deck of cards and beverages to all who came. The endless support of this community made a hard and unusual time pass with

It was a foggy afternoon in the capitol of Utah. Robert was hanging out with his friend Jimmy when he decided to get a job. It had been months since Senor Juan fired Ronald for slacking off on business hours. Robert was living with his sister Dora because he couldn’t afford to buy his own house. Robert was talking to Tristan, Jimmy, and Freddy. He said he was gonna go find work in the coal mines of Utah.

As the crowd aimlessly wandered and dispersed into the streets Aydon stood frozen why am I here, and where did I come from? He looked down at the glossy ticket in his hand- 1892 Sycamore Rd. apt 2. Aydon began walking down the street glancing at road sign looking for his. The people on the streets all walked with their heads up looking straight forward all on some mission to be the best. Only a few swayed and stumble lost, these few all wore the same grey pants and “Welcome To Freehold” shirts as Aydon marking them as new to the city not one looked younger than 16. Finally he managed to stumble upon Sycamore rd, his apartment was a carbon copy of all the other apartments on this street. He found his room and stumbled in, on a small table sat a welcome basket. It had some basic necessities like food, soap, and few sets of the same clothes. The basket also contained a letter that

The unnamed city of the story is a bleak place, one that offers little opportunity for growth. North is the place that everyone is seeking at this time. “This [is] during the wartime, when people [are] coming North for jobs.” North offers people jobs and shelter which is why everyone moves here, but every decision has its pros and cons.“There are twenty-five or thirty kids… in one building.” North is way overpopulated. “ There’s the park a few blocks over but it’s full of kids… you can’t do a thing.” Kids barely have any space in their homes. Moreover, there are “no fields to raise nothing in.” In North, there are only “factories and war industries.” Kids can “buy everything they need at the store.” This is not a suitable place for a child

     One might believe that because capital punishment plays such a large role in Charles Dickens’ A Tale Of Two Cities, that Dickens himself is a supporter of it. This just simply is not true. Dickens uses capitol punishment as a tool to define the evil embodied in both the French ruling class, and the opposing lower class during the French Revolution; as well as comment on the sheep-like nature of humankind.

It all began like most do, with a boy and a passion. Only sixteen years old Robert had managed through distorting information and disingenuous measures had obtained exactly what he needed to begin his new life as a young Adult, A two bedroom townhouse close to the Las Vegas Strip, with a large floor plan and electricity. He was ready