Betsey's Short Story

It was the year 1922 and life hadn’t been this good in a while, times had taken a big change for the best. In Manhattan, New York, there were extravagant parties every weekend; the whole city shows up and doesn't leave until they see the sun. There was once this wealthy family living right in the middle of the roaring twenties. There was a mom, a dad, an older sister named Alice, and a younger sister named Anna. Alice loved to go to all of the huge parties, meet new people, and not come home until the morning. Every time Alice would get ready to go out for the night, Anna would watch her get ready as if she was picturing that was herself. Anna looked up at her sister and wanted to do everything she did. Alice had been talking about this party for a long time, and the night

“Lunch is ready!” my sister chirped from the I brought my plate outside, the patterned china seemingly wet in the sun. I took a bite of my sandwich. The cool veggies managed to dull the heat. The cucumbers crunched in the bread as i took another bite, my mind wondering as I set. I could recall all of the gathering held in this yard, both joyful and somber. Gatherings of celebration and mourning. Each year we would sit In the yard, mixed chatter filling the small clearing. Everyone flocked to the small, one story home. Grandmothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, all alike. Each gathering, the numbers seemed to grow. We would all sit, listening, gathering, and sharing stories of one another. Though it is always nice be reunited family and friends, the empty yard is an entirely separate place. As I finished my sandwich, I looked around, almost an hour had passed. I begun to clean up the spot I was occupying, stacking my dishes and

She grasped my hand to release my mind from the trance. I stroked my fingertips over the wrinkles that adorned my mother’s weathered hands: the past few months had aged her greatly.

“It is a shame that her father left her...this happened because her mother failed her job as a wife...she is so young...what was her father thinking?”, my relatives whispered as they sipped their tea. My cousin’s face turned pale like the white blanket of snow falling outside the lodge at the camp in Lake Tahoe. Her expression held so many emotions as if it was a canvas of a painting to be gazed upon. I could see that she felt frustrated and tired of these rude remarks, and all I did was just stand there and caressed the back side of her hands, so I could comfort her. Suddenly, it felt like the air had thickened so much that even a hammer could not slash it into tiny bits. My cousin had not yet known why her father left the house yesterday.

When the family got onto the Hay ride Priscilla was still in her mother’s arms. She was then put sitting up against her mother chest as we all sat down next to one another. Next to Priscilla and her mother,

Though it was it shameful to admit, she struggled to remember the image of her grandmother. The more she tried to focus on it, the more it slipped away, like losing a dream after you wake up. She could feel herself losing the relationship she once had as a young girl. The sun seemed to dim in the windows and she had to wonder if it was just her imagination.

Writing Sample It was silent, so very silent. She could almost hear the swish of her dress against her calves as she walked the paved paths that led off to different places and different people all around her. It had been months since their first meeting; winter had turned to spring,

I slowly turned the first page of the worn and fragile book. The Instrument contained numerous words of wisdom, or so I had heard from my biological grandma, I lifted it to my face. Did it hold the solution to my problems? The woman of my childhood was convinced that it did. It smelled of leather with lingering traces of tobacco. Grandma held the book often, I remembered, envisioning her in my mind many years past, when I went for a visit to my grandparents house. After supper she sat in the rocker near the fireplace, from time to time taking a break from her reading to step outside and smoke. I didn't like the smell of the cigarettes. Never the less that was the way grandma was. She was an intriguing woman. She didn’t say much in her later

She opened the package, and then reaching inside pulled out an antique journal book. The cover was of handmade paper, pressed with yellow Jessamine and tied with a string of hemp. She ran her fingers across a delicate petal, and then lifted the journal to her nose, taking in its scent in a single breath. The sweetness of the South Carolina State flower that she remembered so well, had long ago disappeared. What remained, was the blissful reminder of her past as a child, wandering along the wooden fence row from where it climbed.

"She sits in front of her virginal white vanity as she paints her soft lips with a color as red as the blood spilled from them the night before and sets her pale powder over the cut right above her blonde, dainty eyebrow with a delicate hand to hide it

Following her mother into the textile shop, Allie snuck a quick peek in their direction. Jeanette, her fiancé, and her mother had turned and were walking toward Jemison’s; Thomas Jackson was standing there staring directly at her. When he saw her looking his way, he smiled and nodded his head in her direction. Their eyes met, and in that instant, something passed between them. She felt it, although she was not exactly sure what it was. That was when she noticed the crinkles around the corners of his eyes and how beautiful his smile was. He wore his long, blondish hair tied at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. Even from a distance, the color of his eyes was vibrant. The color of them reminded her of the Spanish moss that hung from the oaks and junipers near the pond when the late afternoon sun shone on it.

The stories of The Bet by Anton Chekhov and The Cop and the Anthem by O. Henry have some similarities, yet many differences shown through the use of characters, themes, and the setting.

There was a storm raging outside, but no one else seemed concerned, not even the captain. “If this rocking does not stop soon, I won’t have time to fix my hair before dinner!” Mama whined. I looked up at her from where I was sitting on the hard bed. Her reflection looked as glamorous as a movie star, with her hair flowing in ringlets around her perfect face. I was lucky enough to inherit her near perfect features, people sometimes came up to us to ask if we were sisters, mama seemed to love that.

“Say cheese girls!” her mother sang as they squeezed in close before the flash solidified the moment for eternity. The picture was of her, her mother and older sister, standing in front of an ancient temple they had visited on their last family trip together. She ran her fingers over

Throughout my many years of life, I had served as the fairy godmother to dozens of children, but it was rare to see a child cry so hard in my arms. Though, Ella wasn't a child anymore. She had grown into a Lady, just as all my godchildren had. A