Hamantaschen: A Short Story

She had discovered the power of words and it felt so exhilarating! She wrote and explored her new found creative love with passion until the door flew open and Miss Muller and Miss Margot rushed in beaming, "We're heard that the war will soon be over and everyone will be freed." Willy jumped up into the air and twirled and then ran over laughing and hugged the ladies. Joseph who was still feeling rather ill sat and clapped his hands and coughed twice. And Anna smiled happily dropped her pen and paper and declared, "I can't believe that we had survived in your basement for so long. It will be such a pleasure to feel the sunshine on my shoulders again." then she stood up and began to twirl around, and around. Midway through her third twirl a violently tremor tossed her to the floor. Then there was another shake and a loud crash as a squad of German soldiers kicked in the front door. Once the soldiers were in they marched around their blacks boots making a click clock sound on the wood floors as they searching. Everyone held their breath and listened as the soldiers opened squeaky doors and then slamming them shut, door after door until finally they entered into the tiny room where the group five was huddled together. Four were on their feet and other remained seated. The tall SS officer who was in charge smiled at the them and mocked, "We're making merriment yes?" Then he pointed to them squinting his small devious blue eyes and demanded, "What's your names?" Everyone gave their name and he frowned at Joseph and through clenched teeth snickered, "You let's go." Miss Margot ran over and stood in front of Joseph and cried, "No, not him, he has hasn't done anything!" One of the soldiers yelled, "Be quiet and get out the way old lady their only being taken a labor camp. Then he knocked her to the floor with the butt of his gun. Willy gasped for air and Anna dashed over to help her up. The officer smirked with

As the story develops, the reader’s thoughts are guided by the structure of the piece in a way that Tan is able to share an important lesson through the form of a personal narrative. The opening text immediately introduces the narrator and her insecurities as she wishes for a “slim new American nose” (Tan 1). The story initially takes on a negative tone as Tan proceeds to have a negative outlook throughout the entire evening. Her overwhelming anxiety can almost be felt by the reader as she worries what Robert will think of her “noisy Chinese relatives who lacked proper American manners” and overall “shabby Chinese Christmas” (Tan 1). With the tone set, Tan continues to amplify each dreadful detail of her family’s traditional Christmas Eve dinner. This includes the actual meal, that of which appeared to be

Her beautiful face and dark features were sunken in. It was Maria’s twenty- seventh day at Auschwitz and she had lost 17 pounds since she had came 3 weeks ago. She shared a bunk with Annie; her younger sister, the only family member she had left. Their father was separated from them when they were forced out of their ghetto by the gestapo and their mother died just last week from starvation. She would give her food rations to Maria and Annie to keep them as strong as she could.

For everybody the Crutchman's family apple is perfect, but inside, it is repellent. With the help of the atmosphere the author shows his own discourse about the problem – for him this family's way of life is ridiculous and absurd. He dwells upon it with tongue in cheek. It seems that characters are everywhere but not in their family just because they know and understand the despair and ruefulness of their little family theater.

The morning was long and anxious. Nik needed something to preoccupy himself before he could tell the time was right. So, he decided to go to his grandparent’s house. His mom took him over, on the car ride to his escape the questions of his fate ran in diagonals through his head. Bouncing, battering, and bashing every ounce of courage that he once had. THey arrived to the big brown house that smelled of soul food. It put NIk at ease once more.

    “Ok, who is going home for lunch?” I asked the class. Several hands shot up. Then I asked the remainder of the students to put their lunch on their desk if they’d brought it from home. I paced down the aisles of seats and stopped at Walter’s desk.

It felt odd to be home this early, but she needed to distance herself from the case in order to get a fresh perspective of it. For once, she was home early enough to make herself dinner at a decent time, but she soon discovered she had hardly anything in her kitchen that she could make into some sort of meal. She wasn’t in the mood to go grocery shopping for the one night she was home early enough to cook, and instead decided to order a pizza. After all, she couldn’t always order chinese.

The Canadian author Alice Munro was born July 10, 1931 in Wingham, Ontario. She is popularly known as the most important short story writer in Canada along within the English-speaking community as well. She was awarded as the first Canadian Nobel Prize winner in 2013. Alice Munro narrates her short stories in an analytical manner of the protagonist, reflecting on their experiences to outline a more in depth meaning. The central idea is a recurring idea through the experiences of the characters within the short story.

She expected to find her thoughts cluttered and full of questions, along with a feeling of wrongness and guilt, but to Edna’s surprise she was just as contented as before, if not more so. She did not miss Robert, her husband, her children, and she did not feel bad for not missing them. She did indeed care about them. She had for the most part enjoyed their company, but now Edna was living. Edna stared up at what was a cloudless sky and watched as it filled up with white cotton-like shapes that began to form a veil above her. The sun still shone through as it set, leaving the clouds a soft dreamy color like that of old worn letters. With the gradual appearance of each cloud her thoughts of before began to vanish and at the placement of the last one, she woke up from her slumber once

It felt pleasing to be among her things again – the bits of worn, friendly ruins of her past. A favorite book was tenderly caressed; the chandelier her mother gave her glinted in the afternoon light, even the faded sofa was treasured. The effervescence of her feelings somehow imbued the surroundings she’d overlooked to come forward in deep relief.

“I… also lost my sister.” I felt shock entering my face, whether it registers on the outside or not. My Aunt Lily and I were both put in the same room. We were both trapped in the same walls of the situation, thoughts, and feelings, yet I had been unknowing of her presence in it until now. Now she was by side, offering comfort, whether I deserved it or not, for she is

She sits staring at her father’s, now empty, closet. Everything of his was either sold or is boxed up in the attic. Emily still remembers his very organized closet. She can still imagine his buttoned-up shirts freshly ironed and hung up with clean, metal hangers. His dress pants still color coated with darks on the left, getting lighter with every step to the right. Emily can still feel the soft, cotton material his clothes were made of. The closet still smelling exactly like her father’s strong, yet comforting, cologne. She missed seeing him, and hearing his fingers clicking against the keyboard of his laptop. Her father was a very talented writer. Two of his novels have been published. Emily sat in her thoughts, she thought about how her father would never write, read, or publish a book again. His body sat in a grave, pushing that thought away, Emily stood up, walked out of the closet, and never went

After an impossibly long morning, Sukovaty’s class had embarked on a daily adventure to the lunch room. My class and I shared the lunchroom with five other classes, two of which were 5th-grade classes and three of which were 4th-grade classes. The 5th-grade classes were situated towards the entrance of the lunchroom farthest from the entrance on three long tables affixed vertically to the lunch line, whereas the 4th grade long tables were situated towards the entrance of the lunchroom. I sat proudly at the sixth table farthest away from the entrance on the left side wherein I

“I was falling, falling into a deep dark ditch. I could hear my mother's voice calling out to me, but all I could see was a hazy image of her. Appearing and disappearing in front of me, like a distant memory trying to say something. Only the language seemed foreign and I kept on falling not knowing the end…”

“Quiet everyone,” commanded our teacher. A hush went over the class. Observing that everyone is now part of the noiseless, single-file line, he led us out of the room and into the white tiled hallway. Anxiously, we all marched down the halls like little ducklings on the red and black strip in the direction of the cafeteria. After about a minute of disciplined walking, making