Annabeth: A Narrative Fiction

I arrived on scene at about 0025 hours. I made contact with Deputy Williams and he advised the female who was reported to have left was in the residence and she had a severe injury to her face.

With seconds to spare, they bought a pair of train tickets and boarded the train that was just about to depart.

Another fifteen minutes passed and Mrs. Harland hollered up at to him once more, “Devon, I just heard your father’s train is running behind. I guess they’ve run into a bit of an issue with the runic generator—or something—anyways, we’ve got to get going. I’m sure he’ll be hungry when he gets home.”

and then looked at the train out of town. They asked themselves why three in

Jane Addams is the most wonderful person I know. We grew up together in Chicago. She was my neighbor and my friend. An amazing person to have the priviledge of knowing, me and Jane met under the worst circumstances. We had never spoke to one another until my family heard that her mother had passed away. Jane's father told my father the horrible news one night after we had just finished dinner. I remember looking at my mother and feeling so grateful that she was my mother. I hugged her a little tighter before bed that night. The next day I went over to Jane's house to express my sympathies for her loss. From that point on, we developed a friendship that could move the stars.

I was stumbling out of Tilburg’s Tavern that's tucked away under the east bridge, and into the glow of torchlight and the clipping of carriage horses on the cobblestones. I could almost smell the perfume of the pompous men and women perched in those carriages. I wasn’t jealous of them, rather I pitied them. They would never know what real life was like. Not that it was great for me at the moment. Considering the fact that I was slightly intoxicated when I spotted a group of rich men having a discussion across the street, I came up with the brilliantly idiotic plan of making them my next target. Like water through fingers I slipped towards the group unnoticed. But, as I got closer, I began to feel as though something was off. The men were huddled together whispering hurried secrets and throwing suspicious glances at any passers by. Luckily they didn’t notice me, but I did notice the hulking, vaguely humanoid shape that appeared to have materialized in the darkness behind them. Pickpocketing completely forgotten, I crept close enough to hear snippets of their secrets: “...cleanse...eyes...automaton…”. Now I was curious. Despite my childhood lectures that “curiosity killed the cat,” I was determined to find out exactly what these men were conspiring about. Besides, this information could be of great value on the underground

The next morning when Allie went onto the deck, she was surprised to see Charleston spread out along the docks. She immediately went in search of Thomas. She found him coming out of the galley carrying a tray.

I come from a place of proud people and independence; a place of worn church houses and of tear stained Bibles. I come from a place of shackles and chains made of coal that held my people in slavery and subjugation; a place of used needles and broken hearts. I come from Appalachia, and I will be heard. My roots run deep within me connecting me to the mountains where I was born. In my times of trials and tribulations. I look back to my roots and the people who worked so hard to get me to where I am. I find hope In those memories, they give me the strength to persevere and work towards my goals.

Nick fidgeted with his train ticket and bent the corners. He buttoned and unbuttoned his flannel shirt and he re-tied his shoelaces. He could now see the train slowing to a stop as it pulled into the station. It was big and loud. Nick couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a train. Nick stood up. He picked up his things.

I knew her for less than a year, but in that short time we got to know each other as well as if we had been friends for our entire lives. I met Anna Rondeau* at a private online high school where we were both taking a few courses. With long, sleek, chestnut hair and mischievously twinkling eyes, Anna was one of the most fun-loving girls I knew. Everyone loved her for her blunt honesty, entertaining personality, sharp wit, and charming southern mannerisms. Oddly enough, our best friends shared the same first name and both Anna and I wanted to be the same thing when we grew up. To listen to us banter over both the most serious and trivial of matters, it would have been difficult for someone who didn’t know to guess that we lived over a thousand

Anna lived in a small town, in Georgia, with just her father. Her mom died of cancer a few months prior to her moving, which led to them leaving home. Located on the outskirts of town, Anna had one neighbor. Without meeting them, she discovered their names were Frank and Claire. She found out that Frank was a farmer. She also learned that Claire had an accident, which caused her to become blind.

That was the first thing I heard in this odd room. I took a breather still confused on what happened. I saw myself on a mirror, brown hair, blue eyes, a bit plump, blood still coming out, dead. That was me alright. The laughing was coming from a few yards away, I was running when I bumped into something. “CRAP, you're already here!”

I took a glance around and found myself looking right into a pair of dark, glassy eyes peering at me through the bushes. I knew I was not seeing things at that moment. Were those the evil eyes of a goblin lurking waiting for it’s next meal? My breath became too rapid for me to be able to whistle. I took a big gulp and decided to step on it and quicken my pace. I would never get home at this rate.

A cursory glance around the semi-busy place didn’t ease her anxiety or calm her fears. Instinct was yelling at her to get up and move; to run! To not make it easy for them! Whoever ‘them’ was!

I had fallen asleep several hours earlier in the soft, worn, red seat in the corner of an empty train car. The rhythmic sound of the train track combined with a repetitive falling rain had abated me into a much-needed slumber, after spending much of the day navigating the chaotic and often unfriendly streets of Paris. I had collapsed in the seat as soon as I boarded, thrilled to have some isolation and contented to be leaving the chaos of the big city. I was roused from my rest by the shrill sound of a train whistle, and a sudden lurch which announced that we were coming to a stop. I dug a dog-eared copy of my trusty map out of my right jeans pocket and saw that I had arrived at my stop. I glanced out the window to my left and the flashing neon yellow confirmed that we were at the train station in Interlachen, Switzerland.