Blackberry Brandy: A Fictional Narrative

It was the beginning of October, and a 17-year-old teenager was hiding by a chain link fence. He had just stolen a purse from a nearby house, and a neighbor had called the police. An officer by the name of Elton Hymon had arrived and was trying to arrest the kid, whose name was Edward Garner. Garner began to climb the 6-foot fence, and Officer Hymon,

Tonight he wouldn’t get much sleep. He hugged his arms to his chest and let his teeth chatter. He hadn’t been this cold since he had nearly drowned trying to escape more than a year ago. “It’s warmer in the cabin if you want.” Called Peter’s hesitant voice.”

“Because, he knew I was a thief twenty years ago so he planned to catch me on this day.”

It was a hard rain that woke him up, the pitter patter on the windows and the clunking against the metal shackles. Tennent lifted his head off his blocky, drink stained pillow and headed toward the door. The sound of glass breaking whistled behind him as the liquor bottles sprung off his bed, being dragged by the blanket he held onto, like the pain and regret that were held in the shards would always follow him. He finally reached the door as he turned the bolts to lock as he always forget too, and started crawling to the mini refrigerator that hid in the back corner of the room. As Tennent crawled to the iced bar he remembered why he was only supposed to stay in this over expensive motel for a few nights, having to help his mother though the latest and recent flu that’s been going around.

“And serve you right,” Hutt said, opening the door to her cell. “You had no

It was a cold night in New York city, all the lamps were dim, looking very sketchy as always. John Moore was a detective on a missing case for his brother Joshua. The incident occurred on September 19, it was now October 5. John doesn't usually look for a missing case this long, but it was his brother who went missing and he was restless to find his brother. Joshua Moore was reported missing on September 19, little did everyone know Joshua was still alive and well. He actually went missing for a reason, to keep his family safe from a murderer who John had tried to catch a while back. John went on a case for a robber and his partner who did a home invasion on a elderly couple. He soon tracked down the two and chased them till he

It was an ordinary day when Peter Fredward Kanzaas lost what he loved most. The Canadian summer sun brightened up his kitchen making it hard to see some parts of the room due to the glare. This, however did cause Pete to notice that his special green bag with yellow patches on it had gone missing. Pete’s missing bag had contained his most prized possessions in life. His watch that he had won from the state fair, the belt buckle that he had taken from the rodeo, a pair of gold plated socks and his lucky bottle cap were all been stolen by a thief when he or she took that green bag. The backpack full of items was the only thing that made Pete wake up in the morning and when it was stolen, it was not an option to not find it. Peter had to get his possessions back even if it was the last thing he would do.

It was an ordinary day in new york, People going to work, birds chirping to indicate that fall had just sprung. A normal tuesday, the sun rising, another ordinary school day at central queens junior high, but not for Robert. Robert had snuck out of school, and he had found out that a couple of his friends were sick. He invited them over and one of his best friends, Alex came over. Robert and Alex played down at the park where they had met up with one of Alex’s friends, Jacob. They hung out until it was time to go back over to Robert 's house, when his new acquaintance Jacob said,

He was being set up. Like an iceberg fracturing from a glacier, his perfect and smooth running day fell with a spectacular splash. This man was packing heat. A standard police issue handgun. Undoubtedly, the authorities were raiding the place as Jay spoke. They would soon find the concealed moonshine. Weighing up his options, Jay vaulted over the countertop only to meet the beat cop’s left hook connecting with his face. Acute pain registered and intensely dissipated. Darkness filtered through his heavy eyelids before settling in his subconscious.

John Walker is driving in a snowy morning to work to publish his new book. Suddenly his car was forced out of the road by a blizzard. The car flipped four times before coming to a stop. The impact against the trees knocked him unconscious. By the time he woke up everything was dark and the temperature was below zero. Blood was coming out of his head from a cut he got during the crash. He struggled to get out of the car, but his legs were stuck between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel. He tried to break the window with his freezing hands as he stumbled to get free. After painfully pulling his legs out; he crawled out of the broken window. Once he got through the window and was exposed to the freezing temperatures, he realized there were

The short story, Brandy Cake by Beena Kamlani is found within the book, Growing up Ethnic in America, edited by Maria Mazziotti Gillan and Jennifer Gillan. This short story is organized under the section called ‘Negotiating’ which is to reflect the “sacrifices and exchanges made in order to balance one’s multiple cultural allegiances” (Gillan and Gillan). The story is about an Indian family from India that lives in America and how this family, in particular, the mother deals with finding out that she now has a pregnant teenaged daughter. The story starts with the young 15-year old girl, named Preeti who is living in America and whose parents are from India.

Sugar and Spice neighed, lifted themselves into the air slowly. Looking down at Kotori, Eido smiled, waving down to her. Isaac waved at Kotori as she waved at them both, watching the Pegasi fly off in the distance.

The street was eerily quiet as I crossed. So was Mike. Staring at me unwaveringly, he said nothing as I approached. The crow's feet framing his eyes, the ridges in his forehead, and the crinkles in his cheeks still stand out in my mind. How many nights had he lain on that bench, covering his face as the wind whipped against it? Now he hugged his body tightly. He was wearing an old pair of tan khakis, a shirt that I couldn't see clearly, and a light multi-colored jacket, its sleeves ending above his pale wrists, that was just slightly too small and clung to his body. As I gave him the money in my wallet, he took it--slowly--and stared at it for a second in disbelief. Although the street in front of the library is usually an amalgam of car horns, headlights, whining engines throughout the night, nothing--not

A pout grazed his lips. Shouldn't eat too many? How many were too many? The whole thing? "I'll try not to! I'm sure three or five aren't too many..." He said with a small grin, knowing full well that was too many. He wouldn't really do that. The tartness was getting to him some, just a bit. He quickly finished off the candy by biting it instead of sucking on it until it got smaller. With the lemon one gone he grabbed for a cherry one and popped that into his mouth to try it. Not all that bad, either. He was unsure of what other candies were supposed to be in that specific tin. Weren't there strawberry ones? As well as another. Haruko must have eaten them all. They did belong to the gardener so he wouldn't complain and become greedy over it.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of