Call 11: A Short Story

Ernie has always been a little messed up, he has lived in Missouri for the 32 long years of his life. On the day that changed his life forever, November 22, 1996. Him and his family were driving to the mall and they got into an accident. His Mom and Dad both died and Ernie was very depressed. He got the notes, of what made the car accident happen, an inspection failure with the Engine. He did not know what to do with his life. He almost committed suicide, but then out of rage, the decided he was going to make the person who caused the car accident. He went searching for months, and finally came to the conclusion that the person that last assessed the car was Eddie Thompson.

Like clockwork, Liam is rushing into his room. “Are you okay? I heard you scream - do we need to go to the hospital?” Liam crouches down feeling for a fever.

“I’m so sorry.” I say as I turn to run. I run to my briefcase hidden in the bushes to grab my phone. I dial 911, only to hang up each time the operator picks up. I take a deep breath, and dial one last time.

You see that skinny boy 50 feet on the wall, covered in white powder and shaking, about to fall? “Yeah, that’s me”. The thing is, this is not like any teen story because something horrific is not happening, rather, something special. Something new. Something unexpected. I finally conquered a 5.11. Now, you may be wondering what a 5.11 is and why I have white powder and why I am so high. No, I promise I am not high, well, I am, but on a rock climbing wall in Stone Summit of Kennesaw.

The floor rumbled fiercely beneath my feet. A cold jet of air brushed against my leg. My head was push against the window, viewing the taxi line filled with airliners. The roar of the engine grew violently. I could feel the acceleration tuck me back into my seat. The runway seemed to slip underneath my feet, briskly increasing in speed. Then, with a sudden lurch, the nose banked upwards. Liftoff. A sudden thrust of gravity spiked across the cabin. The vertical speed rose steeply as the tail plummeted sharply. The airport slid out of sight as the aircraft approached the lush cerulean Gulf of Mexico. I glanced back at the albicant, old cabin. I looked back at the window. The waters of the gulf of Mexico darkened along with my nerves.

The girl in the photo and Rachel from Sandra Cisneros's short story, Eleven are different from each other. The girl in the photo is protesting. The girl in the photo is on top of someone, sticking out from the crowd with her fist to the air, and speaking out confidently. This shows she is fearless and determined to get her point across. Her bravery is displaced by her sticking out from the rest of the crowd and shouting. The girl in the photo is standing up for herself and what she believes in. The girl in the photo is different from Rachel because she has the confidence to speak up and take a stand. On the other hand, Rachel is a weak and shy girl who cannot stand up for herself. When Mrs Price tells Rachel to put the sweater on she does not

We are not children. We are women, seniors, everything. But we look like children. Teens, even. But we are hundreds of thousands of years old. That is our secret.

I can see and hear everyone but I can’t get anyone’s attention. Then I look down and notice that I have a gunshot wound on my stomach.

Just a while ago I read the realistic fiction short story, “Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros. Rachel’s day started out just like any other day, only today wasn’t any other day. Today was her eleventh birthday. It was supposed to be perfect, Rachel’s mom was making a cake and when her dad got home, they would all sing “Happy birthday, happy birthday to you.” When Rachel got to class things were different than she expected. It all started when Mrs. Price asked who’s sweater it was that had been in the coat closet for a month. Then “That stupid Sylvia Salvador says “I think it belongs to Rachel, ”” and Mrs. Price believed her. Then Mrs. Price made Rachel wear the ugly, germy, smelly, “maybe a thousand years old”, red sweater. All the years inside

Each of us have done a thing or two that churn our stomachs to even slightly remember them. The time you split your pants. The time you fell down while walking at graduation. While each of these instances are absolutely horrid, they shape who one becomes over time. The short story, “Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros, follows an eleven year old girl named Rachel who has to cope with one of life’s sucker punches on what would have be a wonderful day; her birthday. The terrifying incident involving a disgusting red sweater that Rachel describes as “raggedy”, “old”, and smelling of “cottage cheese”. The emotions that these events evoke in Rachel, coupled with various literary techniques and choices such as stream of consciousness style writing, decisions

Oliver looks out the window - the bus revs up - then off it goes; starting his journey to Los Angeles.

02:12-02:27: I’m not one for spitting in general. I know it’s big porn thing, but I’m not a fan. That being said I enjoy a sloppy slut just as much as the next guy. Something about a slut slobbering all over a cock, making her chin and sometimes chest glisten, and being unable to do anything about it since her hands can’t move is nice. It’s a good combination of aesthetically pleasing and degrading.

The year is 2016 the month is April the day is the 22nd. A young Youtuber named John Fox is metal detecting in the woods near a battlefield in Virginia. Then after finding some cool things like a civil war bullet, a coin, and a flat button he gets a very strong signal on his metal detector, it reads 90. When he digs it up, he finds a huge item wrapped in a cloth it looks blooded. He calls the cops to see if there have been in murders in the area lately. And you will never guess what he found out. There was a murder in the area and the suspect was never caught so basically he could still be roaming the woods to this day. After some research online he finds that a murder took place on the 11th of April. That's where things start to get weird. This is the story of what happened in the weeks that followed.

He screams, “Why are you scaring him? I lost my family! I lost everything! I surrender! What more do you want?”

hands are bleeding to such an extent that he can’t go on any longer. A