Ki-Bora's Short Story: Who Are You?

The strings of its muscles that had once contracted and relaxed infinite times are simply now dust floating through a universe that doesn’t care about its existence. This person that once thrived in a vibrant life is simply a sketch by some collegiate art douche attempting to distract himself from a girl. He jolts back to reality cursing himself for getting lost in the backstory of literally no one. The thundering voice of the professor awakens the rest of the sleepers/ dreamers in the back of the lecture hall. “Before you leave, or in some of your cases go back to sleep, write down somewhere that there is indeed a test next Thursday.” As he is writing the reminder next to the skull with only one complete eye, he takes one last peek at her bouncing curls as she rushes out of the hall to go daydream about more random guys. He slides his notebook off of the little platform attached to the chair and tosses the notebook into his always open backpack. After he unzips the side pouch, he stuffs his hand into the small cave and shuffles around until he feels a smooth, hard rectangle in his hand. Ah, there it is. The screen of his phone lights up. He is almost the last person in the lecture hall, but he barely

In The Tale of Kieu a young woman is forced into a lifetime of immorality and subservience to the dominant male culture of her community. The young woman at the heart of the story is not moral. However, her morality or not is really not what the story is about at all. Instead, it is the patriarchal society within Vietnam that is the true central character of the piece. In the history of Vietnam, members of the female gender have had a history of ostracism and oppression by the males of that society. Masculinity itself is found in the poem through the minor male characters of the piece. The character of Kieu is immoral because she is forced into actions against her own set of ethics by the society in which she lives. Morality is judged by the sociology of the surrounding culture. Under the moral rules of Vietnamese society, Kieu is immoral and the men around her who sexualize her and force her into immoral acts are in the moral right.

The bell couldn't have come fast enough and the second it did I was out of there. Zarra pointed me in the right direction for my next class before going to Web Design. I was the first one to Government, which was the best thing that had happened all day. I took the music from my ears and covered them with my hands. I was about ready to cry—something I hadn't done since the last time I went to a new school. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

In fact, I was exhausted up to the point that my vision was blurred and my head spun. I tilted my head forward, trying to focus on my lesson but I felt too dazed to continue. Frustrated, I buried my head into my arms, which felt dry from my eczema. I smelled of fresh detergent, as well as the lavender scent of my bed. My breath gave off the scent of potato chips, which I had polished off. Moreover, I sounded low and hoarse. Whenever I spoke, my monotone voice would eventually find its way out of my sore throat like an exhausted bear crawling out of its den. My constant movements were alert and attentive, and both my mind and my body remained restless. The beads of sweat that dribbled down my forehead tasted salty, almost as if I had just taken a dip in the ocean.

As Booker flicked through the pages of a gossip magazine, he unconsciously fell into a synchronized rhythm with the audible ticking of the wall clock. Each page turned was another second passed, and he had just about exhausted all the reading material in the waiting room of his local doctor. Tom had been in the examination room for nearly an hour and throughout the interminably long wait, the muscles in his neck and shoulders had become increasingly taut until his upper body throbbed painfully from the tension. Closing the magazine, he tossed it onto the table with a weary sigh and maneuvering his head slowly from side to side, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and attempted to massage away some of the stiffness in his muscles. The clock continued its cyclic tick, tock, tick, tock and just as he was contemplating jumping to his feet and ripping it from the wall, the exam room door opened.

The subject shuffled in, with his countless wrinkles, his hair peppered white and his threadbare clothes. However, despite his telltale destitute upbringing, unlike many other citizens, his eyes were still full of hope and life. Peculiar. Nevertheless, his value to the regime had diminished, as he could no longer contribute through work thus, he was a suitable candidate. As the drug was administered, the subject began to fade out of consciousness, his bright eyes slowly fading away. Breath in. Breath out. Silence. The whirring of the machinery seemed to dominate the silence, the white and sterile walls reflecting our distorted faces. Then the subject jerked to life.

The five foot brown hair sneaks into the home of Kierstyn Jones . A twenty year old blonde who works full time at the slaughter house . Nakita waits in the corner of the hallway in the dark , holding a syringe in her hand , filled with a small dose of Etorphine . This drug mainly used on large animals , Nakita uses to knock her victims out instantly , so there is no cause of struggle for her strength . Kierstyn comes from the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk , Nakita knocks against the wall , making Kierstyn turn towards the sound. “ Hello?” She walks toward the noise , out of the darkness Nakita grabs her by the mouth , sticking the syringe in her neck , knocking her out in seconds . Nakita drags her sleeping body into the bedroom floor , she strips her naked , taping her arms and ankles together and last placing a piece over her mouth. She begins to undress herself in front of the sleeping body awaiting for her to awake.

The sweat was dripping down John’s face as he pushed the weights off his chest. Everyone ran towards their bags after a student said there was a gun in school. Twitter was the first source that everyone checked just to make sure. Boom! The door slammed open as Coach Ben yelled “Hurry up and get out”. John’s heart started beating faster and faster. No one knew what was going on. As students were running to the gym everyone was panicking and pushing each other. John could feel the burn on his elbow but he didn’t know what it was. When everyone got to the gym John’s elbow was covered in blood. Everyone was told to get down and stay quiet. Later on coach told everyone a student brought a gun to school and was planning on committing suicide.

Today, my kismet, had other plans. A knock on the door resounded, followed by a heaving breath, the twisting of the doorknob, and a bang as the door shut. My eyes widened when instead of a nurse, an unfamiliar face burst into my room and my reality. Two tantalizing grey eyes peered into my own, a wild mix of fury and contention battling to surface. The latter claimed the victory. Opening a green folder, the boy steered his gaze on a stack of papers. He flipped through them until an aqua colored paper stood out to him, and ripped it from the folder. His eyes scanned the paper until he read something that turned his nonchalant expression,

An idea was tracing through the back of her mind, and so she thought to try and best and quickly she could manifest how she felt. Several minutes minutes of failure of preforming such mental acrobatics propelled Katie towards the decisive choice of going to her closet. As she opened the mirror door, Katie gazed into her own ocean green eyes, and revealing a bounty of tired clothing nobody really wore. Her slender arm reached a slender hand to grasp an engraved brown leather booklet.

He had just managed to stumble to his feet resting his back against the wall. The only light was in the room was from a small opening where the ceiling and wall met, covered with bars. Bahauddin had reached for his neck and a sense of anxiousness rushed through his body. There was no metal there, no keys, no nothing. He had peeked his head through the cell bars to examine the lock and everything around him. “Hello?” Bahauddin yelled, waiting for a response. Coughing had came from the cell next to him. “Hello,” he repeated, “who’s there?”

Arnold shook his head, and Connie found herself in the jalopy’s passenger seat. She turned around and her house was fading into a little speck. All she could remember was that her parents were supposed to be home in a few hours, and just a few minutes ago, just a mile or two back home, just a tick and a tock away, she could feel her chest heaving and her stomach twisting right behind a screen door with her eyes staring right into Arnold Friend’s face. Now, Arnold was sitting right next to her, humming Connie’s favorite

Dave was bored out of his damn mind right now. The white haired teen flops dramatically on the bed, sighing in a quite over dramatic fashion. "Someone save me from this eternal chasm of boredom!" He groans, "The fucking dragon of null is here and I don't want to be. He has taken me away in his god damn clutches. " he snorts to himself. "Nice job Dave. Hittin an allll new low. Chatten your self up. " The blonde huffs and pulls out his phone texting...hmm. Who should he bother. Karkat? Nah. John? Mm. Nah. Dave scrolls through his contacts before landing on...Jake. Hmm. Yeah. 'Yo. Bro. Come be my Knight in aluminum foil. Save me from the dragon of boredom. It has me in its clutches.' He waits a moment. 'Up up I go. To who know where. Who knows

Click, the car was locked. Kreios was in a sauna like box. The heat was flashing at him, causing him to feel weak and incapable. It felt like ten minutes before the two men slammed their doors shut and collapsed inside. The crinkle of the radio echoed to Kreios’ back seat; sounding like a paper crushing into a tight ball. The ride wasn’t long. Only five minutes. Though, the building the teenager approached didn’t seem friendly, it had a bad

This revolving of stories mimics a human’s natural train of thought in the way that it is like she is lost in thought and then regains consciousness to the present for a short while. This narrative technique makes the first person point of view more realistic with its sporadic pace, just as the brain has sporadic thoughts. As Hang is at the train station, her train of thought can be seen when