Abram: A Short Story

The victim was strapped to a table with a pot of rats upended on his stomach. Then a fire was lit atop the cauldron. The rats had no choice but to burrow into the condemned’s stomach.

As I walked, the air of this haunted, dreadful and sorrowful land had sucked the life out of everything and roared as humanity began to disappear. As I carried on walking, I noticed that the small fraction of light was getting smaller and smaller, until it had been engulfed into a think black ash like smoke. Aggressively, the wind walked past the building with its cruddy feeling, blowing away all signs of life. Deeper and deeper into the land was a burning car door. The fire roared and crackled. The roaring and crackling of the burning car door merged with the aggressive air and created the loudest sounds ever heard on land. Growing darker, the skies made me feel nauseous. The fear of not waking up if a human fell asleep towered

The night drew closer around the individuals who, some in dreams, some in panic, seemed to react to impending danger and turned, some to nightmares, some to an eerie calm, as those on death row that accepted their demise for what it was, an abrupt shattering of their existence. Be that as it may, however, some did not wish to go so simply. While some wished for a calm ending, but embraced nevertheless a less subtle end, that of fire and mutilation, others feared it for what it was, or what it could be. Some feared being lost, trapped in a dungeon of previously sound architecture, to watch the edges of their vision turn to the blackness of

One night, thoroughly past her bedtime, Georgiana crept stealthily downstairs to sneak a bite of pie, even though her mother would never approve. She immediately realized a heavy drape of desolation. The only noise was her heart beating to the rapid rhythm of the twitching fan. Georgiana thought that no one would be awake at one in the morning. She slipped through the doorway into the kitchen. For an instant, her heart stopped. A dreadful sight stood in her way. An innocent and isolated individual lay with his hand grasping for life, but it was already over. Taking a step back, she

The room started spinning, his stomach leapt into his throat, and he felt the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. The urge to throw up grew stronger, as he realised, they were never coming home. He felt like a stranger in his own body, a prisoner in his own mind.

“Alright, the final QA is done and it looks like the patch is good to launch in an hour,” Davin, one of the senior engineers slash her boss at Ultima, happily confirmed. “Good work, (Y/N). I’m sure a lot of our players will be very happy.”

After a long Thursday of work on the ranch the hard working men packed into the dining hall. Everyone rushed through the lineup to eat first and instantly the sound of growling stomachs and clinking forks and knifes filled the dining room that was silent moments ago. George, Slim, Lennie, Candy and Carlson in their dirty work wear an scuffed boots sat around an old wood dining room table that was aged with scratches and cuts from the many men that had worked at the ranch before the five men that sat around the table today. The men chowed down on roast beef with gravy and garlic mashed potatoes. Lennie was thrilled as he ate his mountain of potatoes. Gravy spilled down the edge of old Candy’s lips. “Jesus Candy do you have any table manners?” Carlson asked with frustration in his deep voice.

He had just managed to stumble to his feet resting his back against the wall. The only light was in the room was from a small opening where the ceiling and wall met, covered with bars. Bahauddin had reached for his neck and a sense of anxiousness rushed through his body. There was no metal there, no keys, no nothing. He had peeked his head through the cell bars to examine the lock and everything around him. “Hello?” Bahauddin yelled, waiting for a response. Coughing had came from the cell next to him. “Hello,” he repeated, “who’s there?”

It was a warm summer day in Bloomham. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the sky was a deep blue. The thin wisps of cirrus clouds shone high above the backdrop of the Flemn Highlands and Herbert Conway Dam. The Crug river flowed smoothly down through Bloomham from the crystal clear Wyz lake. All this beauty would soon prove to become Bloomham’s biggest enemy.

Reality was brought back, and the wails of women, children and the crackles of homes burning made the atmosphere cancerous. The man had no malice in his form. Naïvely confident did a boy, no more than the age of seven approach the hall’s interior. He was clothed in ripped cloth, and bore new scratches and new bruises; patches of his sprawled jet-black hair remained missing from the recent flames. Tears flowed down his face, leaving streaks in his soot-covered face. A bloody dagger, with foreign runes on the wooden hilt, was held in his shaking hands, and he points the weapon in the direction of the black bandit.

The sound effects along with the hellish prayers at the beginning of the film, all give off a feeling of despair. The prisoners are obviously locked up tight and treated poorly. This is conveyed by briefly panning over the heavy chains and is complimented by the accompanying sound effect of the clanging chains. The sounds of a woman pleading echo the prison while another prisoner prays for salvation. The visual aid of the room being filthy also helps establish that these defiantly aren’t pampered inmates. I really enjoyed your break down of the scenario. You did a very good job of analyzing all of the small details of the scene and you even went a step further elaborated on the symbolic noises and events for example the weighty stamping

The speaker stumbles upon a gruesome site-the remains of a scene of horrific violence. The evidence that remains-a skeleton, blood-soaked articles of clothing, a pile of ashes, and an empty liquor flask among other things-is all dormant, a fact reflected by the tranquil diction such as slumbering, cushion, vacant, and empty Still, the aura of the place of execution, particularly the "Scattered traces of tar, restless arrays of feathers, and the lingering smell of gasoline” brings the experience powerfully to life in both the speaker's and

Quietly reaching up, sliding one hand against the sleek stone, his dry, cracked lips tremble muttering quietly, ‘Oh my God, oh my God!’ Faintly heard screams of agony echo in the background, an insane ungodly laughter echoes louder, paralysis spreads immediately through his bones! A ghostly brusque comment followed, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, common reaction!’ The famous Beethoven’s Moonlight sonata began to play!

Screams of agony and pain are muffled by walls, floors deep below the ground. “Are you going to tell us who else was involved?” a man with a harsh tone while holding a Taser exclaimed. “For the 17th time I already did, you just don’t remember,” says the young man being tortured, “Look over your camera, you’ve been recording me for 9 hours. If you check I am telling you everything.” The man walks over to his camera to see and the time on it says 9:34:26. He then puts the Taser down and starts to replay the nine hours, he quickly skips through it and sees himself constantly asking the same question, siting as he hears the prisoner, after the talk, he stands up and asks the same question, over and over again. The odd thing about the recording is that the man just heard a bit of static as if a sound bomb went off as the prisoner talked. “Why can’t I hear what you are saying in the recording?” the man asked. “I can, like I said you can hear it quite perfectly, but you cannot remember anything I said. You ask me who else was involved and as I go and tell you it becomes blocked

In an instant the apartment had shifted its form into that of a lozenge. It was either death by the pit or to die into complete ashes of myself, burned from the red walls, for death was my only fate. I felt the curse upon me, the rats hurried over my body, I could have only imagined my scornful facet full of disgust, but my soul was already consumed by despair. I craved death with such intensity, perhaps with such avidity, that I felt this I wanted the most. I could not escape the King of Terrors, not another time, and so the remembrance of the autos-da-fe stroke my intuition suddenly, realizing I had but escaped death plenty of times. And the time had come, I was face- to-face with death. Not able to feel my senses, for my body was half deformed