Cosette: A Short Story

When Remy was young his father left him with his mother. Without a father figure in his life he had to teach himself how to get tough. People would make fun of his name constantly, because it was primarily a girls name. Throughout his life his fists would grow raw and hard. When he became of age he went to his first bar. As soon as he walked in it was not as he expected it would be. There was a musky, body odor smell. One person caught his eye as he looked around. A man with a long gray beard, looking as if it hadn't been washed in 10 years. His skin was wrinkled, and looked of leather. He took a shot of his drink and muttered something to the bartender in a raspy deep voice. “How's it going stranger?” said the bartender. Remy ordered his first

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you told us last night, only with the breadsticks at La Cucina,”

“I’m sorry for pulling you.” Malessica said. “I’m just not in the mood to have all those cameras on me right now.”

A. Reaction to the Kelo decision and other examples of tension and variation in policy-making

“You did the right thing.” Leaning back in her chair and adjusting the folds of her skirt, she glanced over at him. “She hasn’t spoken

“just grab what you want and hide it like you do with the cookies your mom doesn’t want u to eat,” I told her.

Someone tapped her shoulder lightly and she looked over to find Octavia giving her a weak smile. “Here,” she said, offering her one of the roughly made cups that they had made at some point.

Chantel said softly, “Why didn’t you tell me these things? I could have helped you at least stay caught up. You can’t come on the trip with me Keerin, you have work and you really should stay in

June 18, on the night of the Battle of Waterloo, corpses were lying all around when the English beat the French. One French officer, Pontmercy, was thought to be dead when Officer Thenardier pickpocketed him. Pontmercy turned out to be alive, and Thenardier told him that the English had won when Pontmercy asked. Thenardier then told him to save himself now, now that he had already “saved” him.

she drafted his plan and set out, doing all the research she could. Coworkers were much more willing to open up about him than she had thought, though she theorized it could be due to the terrible wages they were working for. In a little less than a month, the plan was set and everything was in place. The night the plan was set to take place, Harrison, Daphne and Krysten, workers at Mr. Moores restaurant told him they were staying late to clean up. The next morning, Mr. Moore opened his shop and to his horror, he saw all his ingredients, his supplies and his workers were gone. Down the street he heard a commotion, sprinting out of his store he saw it. “All Artificial Lemon Cake”, a sign with his restaurant’s name on it coming down the street carried by his own employees. The bane of his existence, or whom he thought it to be for that moment, Ash, stood in front of a shop a little ways away from his own and spoke of the many, many, (many, many, many) years of deceit and lies. The sun shone on her as if heavens themselves were seconding her cries for action. She held up the fake lemon flavoring, the sugar substitutes and he just watched as everyone listened to his workers corroborate his story. That was it, he was ruined, no one would ever buy something from him again. He fell against the closed door of his store, sliding down it while making a long, dispirited, monotone noise, not stopping until his entire body was laying on the ground. One of the members of the crowd pointed to Mr.

“I baked Justin’s cake, do you want to see it?” She asks me, looking down as she tries to hide the blush creeping up on her face.

Although there was the familiar, homey feeling of peace, there was also a sense of apprehension that would not go away. Muriel headed towards Sister Leta, the cook who was busy toasting homemade wheat bread and percolating the coffee. Muriel started serving coffee and toast to those who wanted it. There was no current information at this point about what had occurred, or to explain the light, yet there was growing concern. Even though there was coffee to be served, tables to be set up, and spoons and napkins to set out, the reporter side of Muriel came out, as she searched for anybody who might have information about what was going on. She loved to dig for information, and this was a night to dig.

“Vincent, finish pancake before get cold.”, my mother said, completely ignoring my presence. My blood boiled up inside me, my ears reddened, and my heart screamed ‘revenge’, but my mind shushed them silently. I sat

“Ping, bang,” the not so subtle sound of the evening storm, awoke Lucynell from her slumber. The youth behind the counter stared in awe at the angel before him, at the request of Mr. Shiflet, he gingerly pushed the plate of cold ham and grits toward her. Without so much as a glance the boy’s way, Lucynell quickly gobbled down the hearty meal and then began to brush through her hair with the fork.

Desiree had spent far to much time debating one what to do with all the information she now had. The evening before had been filled with so much that she wondered if there was ever a way to accept it all. She had spent the evening tossing and turning in her bed. Her mind always returning to thoughts of Razio. His face, his hands, his lips that still seemed to leave a tingle upon hers. His voice that still echoed in her mind. The way he held himself, and the small spark of light that seemed to push back the cold loneliness she had seen there.