It 's Not Quite A Mystery

“I’ll never hit you in the face where it will leave a mark...” The words rushed in, taunting. The cold emptiness in the tone, like he was there in the room, whispering in her ear. And all at once, the fear was back. The raw fear that gripped her body like a vice and left her gulping in air. In a panic, she whirled her head around the room. She was alone. Relief flooded her, but the sickening butterflies remained. She gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white; outlining the jagged scar more prominently, and she fought to steady her breathing, blink back the tears, focus on something else.

In the story No One’s a Mystery by Elizabeth Tallent: the main character seems to be caught in the middle of a dilemma. In the story a middle-aged man by the name of Jack, who is a married, living out in Wyoming is not being a husband his wife expects him to be while she’s not around. Jack has been married for some time and in the midst of his marriage he’s been fooling around with a teenage girl who was 16 years old when they first met now she’s 18. For some time now they’ve been having sexual intercourse with one another and Jacks wife has no knowledge of such doing. However, from the first time Jack had met the teenager he told her there’s nothing more going on between us besides sex. In No One’s a Mystery both Jack and his teenage friend should be disappointed in their decisions made such as Jack for cheating on his wife, Jacks teenage friend for fooling around with Jack continuously, and Jack's teenage friend not listening to every message that falls on death ear about never seeing her more

I'm not going to get up here and tell you how great I am, because when it comes down to it I'm definitely not perfect. Something I can tell you, however, is that I’m able to see something in everyone, and I’m not the

People say the eyes are the window to the soul, if that is true then I can make women’s souls dazzle. These are my accomplishments in school I haven't even mention my extracurricular activities. I am member and officer of many school clubs and organizations. One weekends I counsel and help at risk teens. I help teach the elderly the difference between scrapbooking and facebooking. I do free cell phone and electronic repairs for the elderly. If I had a nickle for every time I have fixed a computer or cell phone I would have $9.35. In my free time I have coded complex code that that could implemented in place ranging from high schools to Swiss banks. I have eyes like a hawk that can find a missing “;” in a line of code or find the word “unique” backwards on a twenty by twenty word search that rotates. I have meet the future scientist, musicians, actors, supreme court justices, filmmakers, artist, Olympic gold medalist, Wall Street stock brokers, solderers, cliff divers, nuclear engineers, astrophysicists, and managers of Petsmart of tomorrow. I have done all of these things, but I have not yet been to

I came to a halt. My hands were bloodied and bruised. I finally let out the tears, and it wasn’t because of the pain I inflicted on my hands. It was realisation of losing my friend. Maybe we would have been more than that, even- if he was alive. I heaved, I whimpered, I couldn’t breathe. I yelled in agony, my fists didn’t hurt like how my heart

The pain was overpowering, but I couldn't let it take hold. I couldn't let it bury me. My thoughts were racing, but I had to make it go away. I couldn't let it break

“Fine,” she looked up as a man with a scar running down his cheek smiled sinisterly. She didn’t trust him, she moved to try to get out of his reach but he pulled his arm out. Her eyes widened in horror as his fist came forward, she had stopped crying, watching the fist as if it was coming at her slowly. When it hit her face she barely registered it, it didn’t hurt, only stung and sent a shock through her body. Another fist came, then another. Her vision was going blurry, she heard them say something but she couldn’t make out what it was as her body fell limp against the seat and her eyes shut, unable to handle the pain in her

It made me want to know more about you. The day you gave me applesauce, and then started crying because you didn’t want to give it away? That’s the moment I started to fall in love with you. Every Time I saw you after that, I fell in love with you more, until it felt like I was living for the days when I got to see you, and the rest of my life was just spent waiting for those days.

But somehow I ended up at my front door, red as can be. Twisting the slippery knob to let me in. The door swings open, but emptiness fills my heart. I’m broken on the inside, but nothing helps. Alcohol just makes me want you more, pictures of you a constant memory of you.

but I hope that You know who you are. I know that I’m a closed off, desolate, Depressed, antisocial person, And that’s definitely not all.

I started using my new typewriter to type this up right when I got home, but I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while now. You’re my best friend and I know that you didn’t want me to fall out of the tree. I don’t care what you think you wanted to do, or what anyone else thinks you did. You’ve been my best friend for so long, and I know that you wouldn’t have wanted this to come upon me. I started thinking about when came into the infirmary. I remember that you wanted to tell me something, but got kicked out of the room before you could. I know what you wanted to tell me, and I know it isn’t true. You would have said to me, “It was my fault,” and it’s not true. You don’t deserve that on your conscience, thinking that you broke

If you saw me how most people saw me, you would be too. But you don’t because you’ve only seen a part of me. You see what I mean?” That killed me. I thought about all the people I used to know. I thought I always did a pretty good job at being myself but I don’t remember at all, I really don’t. If I was less of myself and more of a phony then maybe all the other phonies would like me more, but I didn’t want to be a phony. I wanted to be me. Just then, the girl’s phone rang. It startled me and I nearly fell out of that goddam window. No kidding. She answered it and it turned out her sister and D.B.’s flight wasn’t as delayed as they thought it would be. I could hear the whole conversation because it was so goddam quiet where we were. When the call ended, the girl turned to me and smiled really nice and wide, which amused me. I was never really one to smile at all, but some part of me decided in that moment that I should smile right

But the rest of the world doesn’t seem to understand either. Everywhere I go it seems as though someone has focussed the brightest spotlight onto my every movement, highlighting every fear and insecurity. Everything about me has changed except my physical appearance. My beliefs. My values. My virtues. My dreams. Yet how can it not be as painfully obvious to everyone as it is to me? How can they possibly not see how drastically I’ve changed? That I’m desperately trying to make sense of a confusing world that I thought I had figured out? But they don’t see that. To them I’m no more than an identical replica to any other football jock. That I’m too wound up in nothing but my own selfish life to be able to maintain a conversation, that I bluffed my way through high school and now struggle to form a sentence. That I’m an exact match to the stereotype despised by so many. But all I want is one person. One person to prove to me that

I walked toward her. and she looked at me I saw the fear in her eyes as she moved away,  Don't be afraid I told her, I would never hurt you, And I reached out my head too her and she looked at me and put her hand in mine, and she said I don't understand,

I watch in horror, of the act I’ve committed. My dear friend falls, as my blade pulls out of her body, blood gushes out like a waterfall, she collapses to the ground, her face express’ the overwhelming terror that had befallen her. She covers her wound in a failed attempted to stop the bleeding. the blood manages to surpass her hand and begins to travel downward. she lifts her hand, realizing it was hopeless to think she’d live, as she looked upon her shaking hand, that had turned the color of crimson.