Capitonia's Short Story

I stand and stare in disbelief as the car’s bonnet is crumpled into the bulky metal pole on the side of the road. My limbs are numb and I am drenched from head to toe. The glistening droplets continuously drip off the tip of my nose as I realize how much trouble I’m going to get into. The wind wails around me as if it’s saying “you’re going to be in so much trouble”. I suddenly get back into the car and attempt to reverse the car so no one will see the car rammed into the power pole. Mum and Dad's pristine new car. Scratched. Dented. Ruined.

The sacred silence of the near-empty Metra terminal was haunting. The footsteps of the evening’s last wanderers reverberated throughout the halls, enveloping the station with an atmosphere of unusual tranquility. Occasional bursts of the summer night’s cool air accompanied the swing of the doors that my friend James and I had just entered through. James and I had just left a concert of the band 311. Conversation between us was sparse, as our ears were still ringing from the roar of the music. Having missed the 11 o’clock train, we sat in the vacant dining hall, reminiscing on the great experience we had just had at the performance of one of our favorite bands.

This orchestra grows rambunctious, rears on its hind legs and attacks the tonal veil with primitive fury, rendering it, clawing it until it breaks through to the jungle beyond. I follow those heathen - follow them exultantly. I dance wildly inside myself; yell within, I whoop... My pulse is throbbing like a war drum. I want to slaughter something--give pain, give death to what, I do not know.

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

As I stood there, propped up against the chair, waiting for Carrie to finish packing up her belongings, I was overwhelmed at the thought of Civitan not being the same. I stared off at the chipped, peeling, uneven paint, the stained carpet, the emptiness of the office.

Out on the street, Greene’s eyes circulate to observe her surroundings. Weed’s sprout up through cracks in the road and sidewalks, the overgrown vegetation trails up through the buildings. Infused in its presence, the leaves engulf each structure. Crowded though it is, an eerie silence resonates in the air. People pass back and forth, their heads tilted down, pushing forward with an urgent persistence. Cander walks with a similar determination, his head tilted down, the surrounding environment not alien to him.

The low rumble reverberated through its victims’ ears. Like statues, everyone stayed still; too frightened to deliberate on what may happen if they dared move a muscle. Looks were shared from across the small courtyard, everyone wide eyed and shaken. In between the madness I heard a sparse bellowing sound from close by.

The sun had long since receded pasted the hills and the moon, tried as it might, could not poke through the thick storm clouds. But that did not stop these men from congregating, not the powerful winds, the beating rain, nor the sky splitting lightening. Their cathedral was calling to them, the old run down barn in the middle of an abandoned field. From the barn just under the drumming rain, you could hear the stomping of feet. Just under the howling winds, an orchestra of screams, choruses of curses ring. And just under the crashing of thunder, the sounds of bone meeting flesh beats.

'Hello! Anyone? Can you hear me? Bloody hell!' Spittle soared from Charlie Winton's mouth as he swore into the inky chamber around him. A sticky sweat dampened his armpits and broke out in tiny beads along his forehead. His breath caught in his throat as he strained to hear, desperate for any sound to break the silence that threatened to smother him. Time crept along, each laborious moment stretched like a taut rubber band ready to burst. Pebbles of loose scree and razor sharp chunks of newly broken coal stabbed painfully into Charlie's abdomen and chest, raising bright red welts, as he edged his way closer to the gaping hole before him. Faint light from his headlamp showed piles of dust and coal flakes, broken timber and layers of thick,

The heavy clear doors slammed open one by one; big bright lights pierced my eyes above with little images of ceiling tile surrounding me that I could barely make out. People in navy blue uniforms huddled around me appearing to be in a hurry somewhere based on they’re bright red faces and the drops of sweat that were slowly dripping and collecting down they’re flushed faces, that eventually fell and exploded on my cold skin. All the commotion around me came to an abrupt halt. Now I was starring at the ceiling once again that now portrayed a blurring metal reflection of my broken and beaten down body that was bound to keep destructing and destroying. I could vaguely hear footsteps that seemed to be in the distance, but became louder and clearer with each step closer towards me. A sudden mask like object appeared directly over my face slowly easing its way down to grasp onto my pale face. Darkness now was the only thing left in sight and would stay this way for hours.

I sit at the kitchen table going over the eviction papers. But we have done nothing wrong I think in my head. My husband John paces beside me furrowing his brow. “I just don't understand. Why us? Why would they come after us?!” exclaims John.

We were finally arriving at the whitecaps fifth third bank stadium. We showed them our tickets and walked in, i got hit a blast of heat and the smell of all the delicious foods.

When Bram Nortrum woke up, it was to the shrill singing of Sparrows, their electric tune broadcasted throughout the mostly emptied street’s loudspeakers. Pollinators, men and women in bright white suits, made their way quickly and effectively through the meager sidewalk foliage, every half step pausing to pollinate a flower. From the distance he could hear the whirring of a blade from inside a harvesting clinic, grinding and twisting its way into a new corpse, bits of ground meat then dropped into a large tub to be sorted through, processed, flavored, and then cooked. It was the same mechanical lullaby he fell asleep to on the stiff bench the night before. Rubbing a hand over the crick in his neck, he stood up and reflected on what it would

Couldn't resist but share the charms...it brings memories of the xenophobic attacks. I woke up one morning in 2008 with the television and lights on, thinking what's going on I walked to the lounge and found my father and a couple of adeero.

On a balmy evening came Don home and looked around, took off his jacket. He then made himself a cup of tea and a sandwich, he sat down at the table and ate it with pleasure, and drank the tea. When he was done, he gave everything in the dishwasher. Don heard noises from the living room and followed them, he smiled when he saw Meryl and went to her and hugged her from behind and kissed her cheek tenderly and asked "How was your day my dear?" You "I had a pleasant day" kissed him on the lips and stroke gently down his cheeks.