Jules Kieser : A Terrible Tragedy

In Ron Power’s article, The Apocalypse of Adolescence, Powers reports on the various brutal murders that ocurred in the state of Vermont, at the hands of troubled young teens. He explores the possible motives of their jarring actions but

The day was dark. I could feel a storm approaching. The gentle sunlight glistening through the clouds, now covered by a heavy mist. Drop. Drop. Drop. The coldness of the water tinged my face. And the earth shook, as a large boom erupted from the sky followed by a light crackle. By now, I was soaked, like that night. I continued walking through the deserted streets when a large flash erupted from the sky. Oh, great lightning, today was getting better and better. A woman and her young child was running towards their car to seek shelter. The walk was a long and dreadful one, I found myself looking at the place I left 15 years ago. The house was still dark and foreboding as ever, the shutters hanging off its hinges and the roof in a state of disrepair.

The day started like that of any other these last couple of weeks. Mysterious incidents kept popping up in the news, of small groups going mad and becoming savage. Life was like that in Lampeter. Very little going on in town, whilst the whole world around us lives with a constant stream of danger. Some people were getting worried, afraid it was some sort of virus going around, but that happens all the time. One small case of a disease and the world’s in an epidemic. Happened with bird flu, E-coli, and we had just got over the joys of swine flu. Now this. Some people were becoming wary, uneasy around other people, fears of catching this mystery virus afflicting the nation and forcing its way into people’s minds. The unfortunate thing was,

Kleinfield starts out the story at the scene of the death, the body freshly discovered by the police. Then, Kleinfield goes on to discuss his thesis that every death can cause “ripples” (273) of change throughout a vast distance. First, Kleinfield describes what it takes to pronounce the man dead and identify him. Kleinfield then talks about the time and effort the man who works at the morgue takes to secure a proper funeral and resting place for this stranger. Kleinfield talks about the cleaners that come in to clean the mess in George’s apartment, the people who take inventory of George’s belongings, and the people who find homes for the items across vast distances. Kleinfield discusses a new stance about Georges life and the people involved in the will. Finally, Kleinfield goes on to describe how each of them knew George and which ones were still alive.

“The community broke into complete chaos. Everybody and everything was out of order. When the wave of painful memories hit, the people dropped to the floor and held their heads in excruciating pain. We should have thought this through more carefully Jonas. I would never have believed that such anarchy could become in such a peaceful community. But the memories were too harsh. Riots were started. Fires burnt down the buildings. Some jumped into the river and died just

“‘We’re looking at a highly sophisticated organism, aren’t we?’” The filoviruses are dangerous. They are responsible for the deaths of thousands, nation-wide panic, and the abandonment of homes and villages. But although the book describes the filoviruses with gruesome scenes filled with blood and terror, it also depicts the calm, quiet moments as well, letting the reader fall back and appreciate how peaceful it can be between the moments of panic. “ I heard a ball bounce, and saw a boy dribbling as basketball on a playground. The ball cast rubbery echoes off the former monkey house. Children's shouts came from the daycare center through the trees.” The reader gradually understands that no matter how peaceful the world can seem to be, it will always revert briefly back into its times of chaos and confusion, and that we should appreciate the moments of peace more because of this. It gives the reader a sense that the world is fragile in its balance of the two spectrums, and it horrifies and thrills them. Ultimately, the author’s purpose is to let the reader appreciate the fragility, beauty, and horror of the world and the things that make up

It was a cloudy day, a mild 78 degrees and Lezley McSpadden was taking a drag of her cigarette outside of the local grocery store where she was employed. She was midway through her shift when a friend of hers called and said that someone had been shot by Canfield Green Apartments. Maybe it’s only a mother’s instinct to recoil in fear, but in that moment Lezley could think only of her son Michael. Michael had recently graduated three months before and she wasn’t sure of his

Karly Segrave was a fifteen year old girl when Hurricane Katrina Hit. Her mother worked at St. Tammany Parish Hospital, so when it was time to evacuate she stuffed everything she could into a backpack and went on her way. Most of the employees at the hospital brought their familys with them, so space was limited. Karly slept under her mothers cubical for three weeks. “At first it was fun,” she watched movies, played games, and had tons of people to talk to. Then days turned into weeks and the hospital begun to run low on food. She began to realize that it wasn’t all fun and games.

Outside, a deep silence fell over the neighborhood. This silence crept into every household. Members of the community had a guise of anger and pain expressed on their faces. Everyone locked themselves inside, to lament such a tragedy that has brought sorrow to a twelve years old’s family. Parents fell on their knees with tears in their eyes. This last murder represented the final straw. So many of their own had been murdered by the malicious, metallic, monsters that were supposed to be the defenders of their community. They felt insecure, threatened by the

It is pretty strange when Tretheway has not been ridden out the storm at that time, yet her ability to extend that empathy to the local residents is undeniable. Thetheway refacts all the deaths and “bodies washed away” (65) through the lens of witnesses – her family and the whole community – with emotional depth and

It was a clear tranquil London evening, warmer than you would expect in mid fall. At this late hour these streets were completely vacant, with only the street lamps and occasional shop window illuminating the road. The only sound was the pounding of sneakers frantically hitting the pavement. With every step the noise grew louder, bringing the woman closer to the street and,she prayed, safety.

It was a cold Sunday afternoon in the South Bronx, New York City. Almost everyone was inside due to the howling wind that could peel the skin off of one’s face if they stayed outside to long. It had been especially cold this December and it was forecasted to get even colder in the upcoming winter months after Christmas. Sammy Roberts hated this cold weather and he thought of every possible way that he could move his family to somewhere warmer and safer for all of them. Unfortunately, money had been tight for the Roberts’ family last month, and Sammy and his wife, Gloria, weren’t sure if they were going to be able buy their children presents for Christmas or even pay the monthly rent. Sammy worked for the maintenance department of the city;

“Mama, cover doors and windows. Everyone go to the bedroom, and put your masks on,” I directed, calmly. When I got to the bedroom, everyone was huddled around each other, with a white cloth on their face. Suddenly, the room became dark. You could hear the heavy breathing of everyone in the room, yet you couldn’t see anyone. The storm felt like it lasted for days, but only really lasted a few minutes. When I got back to the dining room table, I saw a letter on the table from the bank.

One-thirty on a Thursday morning. I laid in bed worrying, after watching John rush to Main Street for a fire call. My head spun as the pager near my head continued to dispatch calls. “Be careful on the roof Watson, I can see light through,” Feltner’s voice echoed. Ambulance sirens boomed down a four-block stretch of Main Street. My body sprung from the bed and hurried out and down the block. My face began to fill with heat. Just then another page came through, “I know idiot, I put it there.” It was John’s voice. I felt relief and began to walk back down the sidewalk to our home. I heard a young girl screaming for her dog, hysterically. Finally, back in my house, I completely forgot that I had left the two girls upstairs. Thankfully,

It was a mysterious, windy, dark night. Annabel, a short young girl with jet black hair, eyelashes that reached the sky and eyes like a puppy dog, had just awoken on the floor of a cold dark forest. As she took in her surroundings and wondered how she had got there, a sudden pain appeared in her head and she had a brief flashback of painful memories of the car crash that she and her parents had just been involved in, a horrific accident; she lay there as tears slowly welled up in her eyes and rolled down her soft, pale cheeks. The thought of her deceased parents sent a shiver up her spine; she couldn’t believe they were gone.