Iuka, Alabam A Short Story

On a Saturday morning, James brown was reading his favorite book as usual, the bird in front of his house squeezing. He read on every saturday and sunday to get some relief from work and all the stress that built up over time. He was really into reading his book, but after a while of reading, James stand next to the window and listen to the rain pouring into the small pound. The rain was getting stronger and stronger as Mrs.Brown got a little scare. She was screaming very loud, the wind blow harder, hat on the resident of Kansas City blow off as if someone smack it off there head. Mrs. Brown was crying because it was rain really hard and there was lighting. James went to his wife and comfort her by humming.

It had been raining intermittently for the past four days and by late Saturday afternoon, another storm was approaching the rural southern town of Wrongberight. Clemmy Sue Jarvis since birth has lived in the town and had a simple philosophy concerning weather. As long as she was six feet above ground instead of six feet below, she did not care what it was. Today as she lifts her petite frame into her rusty Ford pickup, she is preoccupied with what she hopes to accomplish this evening. Absorbed in though she pulls out of her driveway and heads south on Flat Bottom Road along the edge the Dismal Swamp towards the isolated home of her dearest friend Estelle

It was a normal day, beautiful even. The sky was clear, it was warm, you wouldn't ever think that today would take multiple lives. There were no clouds in the sky. Little did I know how much my life, and the inhabitants of my hometown, was going to change.

It is December 26, 2011. The trees are bare; the grass is lifeless. The brutal winds send shivers down my spine. My family and I pack our suitcases in the car, and we begin the long journey up to Natchez. Everywhere I look, I see dead trees and brown grass. I listen to the wind, whistling past the car. The three hour drive seems like an eternity.

One Spring, my mother and I were visiting my uncle in Alabama. I wanted to see what all the state had to offer. My aunt informed us that a new clothing store had opened in a small town outside of Mobile, Alabama. My mother and I love to shop so we immediately jumped in her sedan and proceeded to the store. Alabama’s scenery was so mesmerizing. The bright sun glistening on Mobile Bay was absolutely breathtaking. I could hardly keep my eyes open to enjoy the view because the sun began to impair my

I wandered out of our alley and went up to her and said, “Hi Mrs. Mason, quite the storm we’ve had, huh?” To which she replied in her Southern accent, “You know, Ben, besides for the storm of 78’, this must be one of the worst, maybe the worst storm I’ve ever seen.” I was so shocked to see her outside. Never before had I seen her outside in such brutal conditions which really attests to how strong of a woman she was. Sure, I’d seen her walking outside in the freezing cold when I glanced through my bedroom window, but never had I seen her out in such atrocious weather. Reflecting back on it, though, I shouldn’t have been so surprised because this was who she was. That was her routine. Still, Mrs. Mason keeps walking around, always chatting with our neighbors and mailman, giving lost Brown students directions in sweet Southern accent, and keeping up her fashion.

By Saturday afternoon, the eighty-seven residents in the rural southern town of Wrongberight have borne the wrath of four days of intensive intermittent rainstorms. Yet another storm approaches the town from the northeast, augmenting their woes. One of the locals, Clemmy Sue Jarvis since birth has lived here and has a homespun philosophy concerning weather – ‘weather will be weather and it will not prevent her from doing as she damn pleases’. Therefore, around four on this particular Saturday, as ominous clouds lace the sky and soaring Pines bend to the rhythm of gusting wind, she lifts her petite frame into her rusty Ford pickup, and gradually eases out of her driveway. Cautiously, she turns onto Flat Bottom Road and follows it south

This rain carried on up till and during the hike. As time went by everyone became moody and with the constant rain we were kept in a state of discomfort. Tensions began to break out and members began to snap at each other. The beautiful views and experiences to be had at Philmont were marred by these events. Despite all this I promised myself, “I’m going to have fun. Nothing can ruin this for me”, and so gritting my teeth I prepared myself for the days to come. After 8 tiring days, however, my resolve was finally

The minute Rei walked into the building he knew it was a trap. One look at the man before him—Kurose Youma— and he knew some bullshit was going to go down. It was just a feeling and Rei had no proof, but he had a knack for knowing these things. Call it a sixth sense, but the man could discern from a glance what a person’s motive was; be it good or bad. Even if that was a black and white way to label it.

It was May 14, 1910 in Louisville, Kentucky. The sun was luminously shining and it felt like I could taste the summer breeze. Ma and Pa were about to head out for their yearly trip to Florida. Nobody had any clue how they had enough money for this trip but, we all knew that they always had a splendid time! Before they headed out Chuck, my brother and Susie, my sister gave both Ma and Pa a huge hug that seemed to last forever and a little picture to take along with them. I said my goodbyes and they both were off to the airport.

The balm and humid air held static electricity and a feeling of unexplainable dread. The heat and weather of the always unpredictable summer months in the small town bordering the Texas Gulf Coast were averaging between ninety-five and a hundred degrees. The location of the town allowed for many outdoor activities. Washers, beach swimming, horse shoes and barbeques are what helped gravitate the people of the community together for picnics, to socialize, and enjoy each other’s company. On this one particularly hot summer day the town seemed to be holding its breath, waiting on something to happen. The day was unusually quiet and still, a feeling of anticipation was in the air.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

Jacques; It was nice with my mother and my father, Geffline Jansort and Jamet Cartier. I also had three siblings, Wcas, Bertenline, and Jehanne. Later on I married Mary Catherine des Granches. My family was big on trade , especially watches, so they helped push me to explore.

The sun wrapped my body in its warm blanket. It extended its radiant arms to the surface, illuminating my surroundings. The slight breeze flowed through my hair and encompassed my entire figure in order to reverse the toasty effects of that ball of heat from above. The wind and our star worked together in harmony without overpowering one another, helping to establish comfort. Finally, the weather was perfect – ideal temperatures and beautiful, clear skies. With a sunny and cool day, it was a relief that Athens was not cursed with scorching temperatures or with an incessant downpour of spontaneous rain. I wished I could turn back time and pause this moment in order to immerse myself in nature’s scenic beauty. However, I

It’s cool and dark outside of the car as we drive, dark clouds hovering over the plains as fat, heavy drops of water fall from the full clouds. The lights of cars and streetlights and cars blur with the flow of water on the side windows, our speed not fast enough to force the drops to flow back along the windows. It’s not until we start on the highway and the water starts to move that I find my objects of interest in front of me in the form of the rain and the memories of my childhood that surface with them.