Folsom Cordova High School: A Short Story

When I almost reached the door, I felt something at my foot, a broken hourglass, that had ran out of sand. Shaking and suddenly bursting into a cold sweat, I furiously jammed the key in. It felt like an eternity, but finally I succeeded. Pushing the door open, and wiping a faceful of sweat from my face, I felt this wave of aromas crash over me. Putting the key in my pocket(FORESHADOWING) and then entering the cellar I tried to calm down. I tried to look for the cask of Amontillado that I bought several weeks ago. There were millions of wines in that cellar (HYPERBOLE). But at last I found it. It felt, lighter, and after opening it I realised that it was empty. I wasn’t enraged, just tired. I made my way to the door, suddenly feeling drowsy. Then I became a little bit nauseous and shaky. Looking into the darkness, I saw, darkness. So I picked up my dying torch and put it up and almost yelled “Who’s there?”. There was no reply but a figure seemed to appear in the darkness. It was carrying a scythe and it started towards me. I fell back, and was caught by the wall, slamming my head against it and dropping my torch. The figure whispered in the dark, “Free the fortunate one, for be warned fate will find

“Wyandotte High School,” Mrs. Marilyn said. We were next. My anxiety screaming “you have to get up and do stuff or you’ll fail in life.” I got up from my seat and headed to the stage. My heart was racing loudly that I was afraid that everyone would hear it. My hands dripped with sweat. I kept taking deep breaths to calm myself. I felt the spotlight following my every move.

I feel as if happiness is a joke and no one ever let me in on the punchline. I see others enjoying it and having a grand old time, but I just don’t quite get it. There are times when I think I have figured it out, but it will slip from my grip and I’m left miserable, once again finding that I was wrong about it all along. It’s a vicious cycle of never-ending despair. That’s just my life for you.

“Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm”, Winston Churchill once said. As a high school student I would only things that I had to and cross my fingers that I didn’t screw up. But in the long run, I realized it would pay off the keep my head up high and stay persistent.

Cadenza walked the halls of Garden Grove High School quickly and quietly, taking soft steps and not looking up. You had to be careful when you were something like her. All through her family tree, from her great great great great great grandmother to as recent as her mom, her ancestors had been cursed with this gift. Every time, they had tried to help the people. Every time, they had been burned alive. But she had something special. Something, she thought, other witches didn’t have.

As the sun lazily climbed the sky, South Christian High School was just beginning to wake up. Some teachers had already shown up and were walking around the school or working in their classrooms. The few early-bird students roamed the halls, some chatting quietly with their friends. A few children were working tirelessly trying to finish their homework before the first bell

The sun appeared over the horizon, painting the sky in countless warm golden shades. The rising sun brought with it the awakening of the people and the city started to slowly emerge from its nightly hibernation as the roads filled with vehicles that seemed to roar in the crisp morning air, As the workplaces slowly filled the noise of the roads died down as people started to go about their daily routine content with the habitual life that they continued to live. This would not stay true for the students of Steele high school for much longer.

It was a year after the fight. Everything had returned to normal at Trinity High School. Everything was going good for Jerry, except for he didn’t play football this year because of his teammates targeting him last season.

About six months ago Sean was bullied in the locker room at St. Vincent High School. He was in the locker room minding his business when suddenly another teenager comes up and starts hitting Sean in the face knocking him over. Sean could taste the blood in his mouth. After only a few moments the other teenager stopped and ran away. When he got up his head was pounding and he couldn’t feel his bottom lip. He also had cuts all over his face. Thankfully the schools camera caught the whole thing live and the family decided to put the video online so that people could hear his story. Unknowingly something incredible happened. Rener Gracie saw this video and felt touched by it. Rener runs a Jui jitsu company that has gyms all around the country

LINDSEY nearly fell out of her aunt's car, trying to get some type of service on her cell phone. She waved her arms frantically in the air, but still nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. She released a heavy sigh before looking over at the car next to her. A brown-haired guy smiled at her before saying, "I'm not getting anything either."

“ Yea, I heard that there’s a nutty negro student became the president of an Americanism Club in Cleveland Central High School. I bet that poor thing didn’t even know what is Americanism.”

“Sir, I’ll have you know that I am the sole owner and proprietor of this fine establishment here and I will have you know that I find it slanderous and outraging that you allege that I would harbor criminals in this morally upstanding whore house. But, if you and your friends would be interested in a bit of pussy or maybe a drink or two…”

Walt gapes at the instrument. The horn blazes under the spotlights. Walt spills the rest of his ice down his chest, raising his hand to drink but forgetting that he has run dry. He staggers up to the bar, clutching the empty glass to his breast, his head wrenched backward. He stares at what he think must be molten brass. Three people serve drinks. They lean over the polished wood; they nod consent. They mix liquors and liquor?s accoutrements, they shout prices, they run credit cards and stuff tips into a big jar by the registers. One of the bartenders is a brawny, scowling man. He works hard at his body and wears tight black shirts to prove the way his muscles knit together when he makes his circuit from the bar to the register and to the wall of bottles with their mirrored backing. He likes to lean forward and flex for women when he sets down their aviations, their gimlets, any cocktail housed in that delicate, long-stemmed glasses. He knows Walt. He has kicked Walt out of the bar before, and done it roughly. The bartender crushes a wedge of lime into a drink with thumb and forefinger and he steps toward Walt, snuffing at him. He smells urine. ?Walt, what the fuck, huh?? Walt throws up crooked hands with

All of their corpses laid upon the ground. At eternal rest they lay silent. The remains are bloodied and sliced to the point of no recognition. Time is still, and I stand in the room adjacent from the carcasses. My head is spinning, my breath is quick. The knife in my hand suddenly feels as if it’s one thousand degrees. The smell of iron creeps into my nose and shakes me to the core. I become so shaky that the seemingly ablaze knife comes loose and falls to the ground. A crisp three clicks fills my ear, and I suddenly am standing with a revolver to my head.

Claws sink into my shoulders, tearing through my skin, my muscle, drawing long lines down my back. I am tense, trying to fight back against the beast that is unseen and everywhere. It pulls at my eyes, blurring my vision, tugging unwanted tears from me, making it near impossible to see the dark green carpet of my room.