Clemmie's Sacrifice

Margery was such a slob when she’d been drinking. She’d pick up fast food, but be so bombed that half the time she couldn’t find her mouth. Burger wrappers, nibs of French fries, and oozing condiment packets littered the floor of her posh Cadillac…probably the floor of her apartment, now, too, I thought in disgust. I mean, sure, the house was already shabby, but I was

Lizzy shuddered. It was cold in the cave. She rolled over, idly wondering whether she was awake – it was so hard to tell, lately. A chill ran up where her skin touched the freezing floor. No wait, not floor. It was the metal, she remembered. That was all it was to her now, metal, even though once she had craved it; had needed it. No more. Just metal. She yawned and turned again. Her movements spread out her hoard over the cave floor like gravel. She would have to get up soon, she knew, but not yet.

Sarah slugged through the early morning work and realized-too soon- that she needed to make a trip to the house. She made her way, clasping her arms around her for warmth in the cold November morning. Painted Girl’s borrowed sweater did not help dissipate the cold air, and neither did the lingering whiskey in her system. A light shone in the window illuminating Grandfather and Dingle, who sat at the table together eating pie. She watched as Dingle grabbed a juicy strawberry from Grandfather’s pie and nibbled at it greedily. Grandfather must have finished his hunt early, Sarah realized. She had hoped to avoid Grandfather today but nature called. There was no choice, either the woods or the house. Sarah did an about turn and went for the

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

During the Holocaust 6 million Jews died, but some people were brave enough to help others. Sir Nicholas Winton was one of those people, and so was Annemarie Johansen. Moreover, Sir Nick was brave and saved 669 children, and Annemarie was brave because she helped protect Ellen.

She walks to the centermost oak tree near Mason Hall, she finally has found the perfect shady spot on an 80-degree day. She passes the boy from her Psychology class and gives him a small smile. She’s taking a journey to a jungle she doesn’t normally observe, a place where many humans and animals inhabit. There isn’t a breeze and the air feels drier than usual. The Diag seems unfriendly today, as she sits down she’s nervous of her surroundings. She plants herself on a somewhat clean patch of grass and pulls out her shiny laptop. She is reading “Werner Herzog’s Conquest of the Useless” for her freshman English class. As she dives her way into the reading she starts to think about where she is, what is going on around her, and the journey that she is on. A bushy red squirrel approaches her, she’s confused why it’s coming so close and quickly gets up to escape its presence. “Why in the world is this squirrel so close to me” she thinks to herself. The girl moves from the tree but as she get up she starts to notice specific details she hasn’t before.

Cleo froze on the top step, it was infallible. Every fleck of the wall and every particle of dust was in its original condition. No blood, no knives, not a single atom out of place. In stunned silence, she paced the hardwood floor, she walked from the railing to the bathrooms. She wasn’t sure how they had pulled it all together while she was gone, but they had.

Ralph’s mother’s voice floated into his room. “Ralph, lunch is ready. Are you hungry?” she called. No, Ralph was not hungry. After weeks and weeks of surviving on such a meager diet of fruit and the occasional bite of pig, his stomach still hadn’t recovered. Ralph shuddered at the thought of eating pig. A week or so ago, his mother made him eggs and bacon for breakfast. Upon seeing the bacon, Ralph was violently ill with thoughts of Jack and his hunters.

Emma sauntered into the kitchen, poured round glasses of iced lemonades, and pulled a tray out from a cupboard. The place was wide. From the front door, the right wing branched out into a large kitchen with a long hallway entrance next to it. I assumed the hallway held the bedrooms. The entire place was a combination of bright orange and yellow wooden frames. The normal décor was thrown off by the axes, swords, and even machetes marking the surfaces at even intervals.

Mingling with the crisp smell of a fresh breeze, was a sweet scent that Eon identified as butter and cinnamon. A deadly combination for someone with even the slightest appetite. In a trance, he followed his nose to the edge of the castle wall. Far up on one of the seven towers, was a slight sill where the kitchen cooling racks lay. The challenge was undaunting, Eon had done this many times before. At first he had been wary but after a few tries he had grown to like the challenge and exhilaration that came from climbing up the sheer face of the castle wall. He soon fell into a rhythm. Though the wall seemed smooth and had a nearly vertical slope, somehow, Eon found tiny crevices and corners that could support his weight, though at times he was left hanging by the nail of his left pinky. It seemed that even the smallest winds, would brush him off, not unlike a leaf being tossed around in the air. At last he reached the ledge where the trays of sweet rolls lay, cooling off. No sooner had his hand brushed against a bun of soft dough, than he was griped in a cast of iron and yanked into the kitchen. He stumbled and collapsed to the floor, before he could look up, he was pulled to his feet again. He turned to face a grinning Samuel, in his white apron and matching

The kitchen was dim and had a musty, bread-filled smell. A candle was lit on the well-worn wooden table. My auntie sat on a stool, bent over, repairing some of the Mistress’ fine clothing. Auntie was the closest thing I had to mother after Mas’er sold Mama. I could hear the rain coming through the hole in the ceiling and into the pot we had sitting underneath. It was a cozy room to me. . . one of my favorites, actually. My younger brother, Samuel, had finished his work. He, Pa, and a close friend sat near the stove, warming their hands and feet.

wind. It was as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be

Carleeta had a croissant obsession. She slept in a bed made of croissants, only ate croissants, and she was even dating an old moldy croissant. They like made out and stuff. It was really disgusting. Kimmy was very concerned for her friend. One day , Carleeta heard about an amusement park called “Croissant Land.” Her, Pierré (Her croissant boyfriend) and Kimmy were all going next week.

Finally I’d get home, starving since I hadn 't eaten all day. I’d get pizza, chinese or whatever I was in the mood for with the cash Dad left on the table. My twelve year old self was so excited to be able to pick out whatever I wanted to eat every night, but over the years take out had lost its appeal. When the food arrived I’d leave half in the fridge for Dad and take the other half to eat in my room. My room isn’t big, it fits a queen sized bed and desk, the walls undecorated and boring. The only light comes from a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling, but I barely ever use it. I lived in darkness, a pale glow coming from my laptop illuminating my face as I scrolled with one hand, the other always holding some type of food or drink.

Deep in her own mind, she considered how much it might hurt her to try and wrest the perfect chair from the ground and hurl it at the perfect walls. For a brief moment, she dreamed of it. The wall would shatter into a thousand pieces, armed guards would come streaming down the left hallway—for that was the direction they brought her from—and none of them would dare harm her. She was a Bellus and what were they, except Labor? She pitied Labor. It didn’t do for a Bellus to think on the heaping amounts of food Labor got—the seasoned stews, the rich chocolates, the buttered breads, or the creamy cheeses—so she pitied them and continued to dream. Her thoughts turned to how she would walk over ruined wall and glass and back out onto the teetering city walks without a single care in this or any other world. Her sister would