Demotte: A Short Story

The cold harsh winds of the winter whistled through the ranch. Nothing moved, the grounds lay bare the only sign of life was an illuminated window on the far side of the silent ranch. The light came from a small wooden shack; the shack appeared newer than the rest of the weather worn buildings, it also looked better cared for than the other buildings. Next to the shack was a small garden and in it were gravestones. Two were lined side by side, but another sat lonely in the corner of the garden. The lonely gravestone was simple it was made from wood unlike the other two that had been carefully crafted out of stone. Then a creak echoed around the garden and the shack, it was no louder than a whisper but in a place where nothing made a single

The trail lead down to the lake shore, where the area was full of thick vegetation. Following a faint trail cut through the area, I found a curious looking structure. Two cedar trees had fallen to form what appeared to be the framework of a “natural” blind. Located close to the water’s edge, the blind provided a clear view of the

In the middle of this area is a little cabin, aptly named “The Little Cabin in the Woods”, clever. Directly in front of said cabin, I was getting a distinct smell of pipe smoke. Now, knowing it was a crappy weather day and the fact nobody else was in the area, I started to get a bit creeped out. Oh look, Black-capped Chickadees and a pair of Tufted Titmouse, let’s get moving along

The clearing was quiet, it seemed lifeless. The Salinas River still flowed merrily near the hillside. The water was still warm from the afternoon sun, and still reflected a green hue. On one side of the river, the smooth foothill slopes still curved up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, and the other side was still lined with trees. The willows and sycamore branches still swung gently in the wind, and the leaves still created a green light within the space. It was totally calm and peaceful… but something was wrong. The air seemed heavier, and the sun seemed dimmer. No animals stirred, and everything seemed to be aware of a deep sadness. Nothing moved save for a small group of men standing around an unmoving figure.

I stopped for a moment to get out my flashlight and head lamp before it became pitch black. Light works differently in the woods. There is no light unless it is from the sun or the moon. There are no streetlamps or houses with a light on just, dark. It was absolutely frigid once the sun vanished behind the mountains. I was walking up the road that leads in to the camp. The first that hit me was the smell of rancor, The un-mistakable smell of water mixing with soil. The stream was running strong pushing clear all of the leaves that have drifted down from the trees. The stream was flowed like a small reviver collecting all the water from the rain. I set up my hammock just next to it in-between two towering scrub oak trees with squires flying between them and fell asleep to the sound of the trees talking and the streams

A bitter breeze makes its way down the lake until it reaches the shoreline. As I am looking towards Ruby Island I feel an algid whip hit my face, sending shivers through my spine. An astonishment of nippy air gives me goose bumps causing my arm hairs to stick up like soldiers ready to scuffle away the bitterness. I saunter towards the end of the wharf , clinching my fists tightly in my pockets to keep the coolness of the air from touching my fingers. With every step I take, I can feel my feet sliding beneath me from the metal wiring that covers the hard wooden surface.Being very cautious trying not slip into the ferocious wavy water I take a peek at what is beneath. The waves no longer look inviting like were six months ago. Instead, they look sharp and snappy enough to freeze a soul. As I am scanning the rugged surface of the lake, something catches my eye.

Dictating, waiting, How my future may unravel, My heart sinks as the judge pounds the gavel, The judge hits the gavel- one... two... three- The jury cries out, "Guilty! Guilty!

There he was; just a little ways up ahead. Hanging around just outside little ol' Devlon's depot straight under the Dark of night like a good little buck. Hell from down the street right up until the headlights of my truck were straight in his face, and beaming the shadow of his tiny little body right up Devlon's wall. He. Stayed. Right where he fucking was and gave both me and my fucking truck the cold stare. Cos' he fucking hated my guts and even from way down the fucking road; he knew it was me.

cabin, and it was covered in vines. When they walked in, the door creaked and it was pitch

I came to and looked around at the eerily familiar landscape, but something was missing. The house. It was gone. I slowly walked towards the plantation that I had visited so many times before, and as I grew closer and closer, I saw something peculiar. What was a rock doing in the middle of an empty field? The field was empty except for a single tree, which

Lake Willowberry wasn’t an enormous lake, but it was sizable, with the approximate circumference length of a rounded football field. The lake was not far from my house, it was in the forest, and the forest encroached the south side of my fence—standing tall like a citadel of pine trees.

The Abandoned house stood there, with fog rising to the sky. Lights flickered being the only light in the dark….. The fog dragged a cold breeze, that sent a chill up my spine, this house has been here forever and nothing like this has ever happened before, I gulped and strolled into the cold night fog. As I approached the house, the door slowly opens and a Shadow steps towards me. The weather just dropped like 40 degrees, I don't like this at all.

¨Matthew R. Williams, you have been charged with being a rogue wizard!¨ yelled the peacekeeper, with a tag labeled, Corporal St 1. He was new, ¨So… You're a new trooper.¨ I snarled, as if I wasn't about to be burned to my death. ¨If you try to escape, it will be seen as an act of aggression!¨ The peacekeeper warned. ¨ I bet I won´t be killed.¨ I came back with, seeing my fellow rogues in the distance. ¨BURN HIM!¨He yelled. But the two peacekeepers who had me by the arms, were hit by an ice bolt, killing them. ¨Only I sorceress knows that spell,¨ I said, ¨Ice Princess Grace.¨ She had all the peacekeepers dead in a matter of seconds. ¨Ẅell...Well...¨ Grace

When arriving at Tumbledown Mountain, I was surrounded by brown and reddish leaves that were scattered on the ground. The trees around me were filled with luscious, vibrant, green leaves that enchanted my eyes. In addition to the leaves and trees, there was a lot of moss growing on tree stumps that looked like a small blanket covering an infant. Wild, white mushrooms were also growing out of the ground, which gave the ground a pop of color. Taking a step out of the car and onto the leaves, sounded like fire crackling at a camp fire. The sound of the leaves made the hairs on my arm stick up and filled my skin with small goose bumps. At first the smell of the woods was unfamiliar, but I soon got used to it and felt at ease. It felt like I was in my own fantasy where I could escape my troubles and focus on each little detail in the woods.

“Here ends the third day of the Decameron and the fourth day begins: under the reign of Philostrato, the stories are about people whose love has ended in tears” (249). In the second story of the fourth day, our story teller Pampinea is more inclined to delight rather than dispirit her audience. While staying within the days brief, she challenges the blind obedience to the kings hand by using her wit to forge a tragic comic relief tale. Before beginning her story, Pampinea feels it is of urgency to take the time to set up her feelings about the clergy. She reveals that her story allows her to demonstrate “the lengths to which the religious orders go in their hypocrisy” (265). Clergyman, with their feeble facade, are courteous when they are out begging others to show them mercy when they show no mercy to people who have commited the same sins that they have committed themselves. They spend their whole lives receiving instead of giving. While others have to strive in order to be allowed into heaven, clergyman seem to take on the role as rightful landowners of heaven, assigning each departing soul a better or worse place according to the amount of financial generosity they allow to them. With that being said, Pampinea is able to begin her story about a young man with the name of Berto dello Massa. Berto is a rogue (a dishonest, knavish person) whose corrupt life became so accustomed amongst the people of Imola he was forced to move to Venice so