Leland: A Short Story

As Kit Carson looked out upon the wide expanses of rusty red desert before him, he felt as if he was in another world when compared to his boyhood home in the Missouri frontier (Biography.com). Large spires of rock jutted out of the flat ground as if they had come to life and raced to the skies. Combined with a sprinkling of gigantic mesas, the scene before him was most definitely hellish by description, but had a certain form of beauty not seen anywhere else. This beauty was the driving force that attracted the seasoned frontiersman and explorer to the small town of Taos, New Mexico. It was here he built his permanent home (Weiser).

Many years ago I was a good man,I lived in New York with my good friend Jimmy Wells before I end up here in prison.Let me tell you the story from the start.

Millions of people immigrate to the United States from various parts of the world. In the Namesake, Ashoke and Ashima Ganguli moved to America from India. After moving to America, they gave birth to their two children Gogol and Sonali. In America, the Ganguli family had to face many obstacles such as language barrier, cultural barrier, and loneliness.

Wesley Mathews told police he put his 3-year-old adopted daughter, Sherin Mathews, in an alone alley at 3 a.m. where coyotes roamed as a punishment for not drinking her milk.

During the entire class dante was drawing the address 5578 in walnut street, travis would look at him worried his best friend is going crazy. Later on that day it was break travis confronted dante turning him to his direction all dante said repeatedly was “I’m scared help me please!” travis backed away slowly and finally running to his secret hiding spot thinking to himself, then finally it hit him dante was acting strange ever since travis was trying to open the door, this left him thinking if he could open the door again would dante get back to normal or would hr find a secret so unbelievable yet so true it would end up killing the both. Their truly was no other way to find out then to open the door. After school travis got out his sketch

“Wonder how many of these freeloaders would claim to be his friend if I went public with his lewd behavior,” Christine said close to Paul’s ear.

Dan Howell was often considered the life of the party ever since freshman year. Some people found it charming the way that he would dress, talk and party, others found it distasteful and wild. That didn't matter though, all that mattered to him at the moment was the party that he was at and the drink in his hand. Luckily they had plenty of Dan's favorite drink, willing him to stay at the party longer even when it started to fade out. Right when Dan was about to walk out, his cup in hand someone pulled him back in to play seven minutes in heaven. Not a bad group of people, he thought to himself as his eyes scanned the group of people who were playing. Dan was impressed when he saw Phil Lester sitting right across from him with a smug expression

"Listen carefully, not everything is as it seems." He said. Letting go of my arm, he sat back down and picked up his book again. The Holy

“Sorry, I haven’t a clue,” he answered, smile smart. “Can’t help you out, so I guess I’ll see you around,” he stood up and watched Youma carefully, but the man just sighed and shook his head.

George Hand sits on his couch struggling to load his only bullet into his revolver. He is frustrated and his body, wet with sweat. His hands were shaking making it difficult to guide the bullet into the chamber, but he finally succeeds. He closes and spins the barrel, and listens just like he'd seen on TV. He was ready now, for a solo game of Russian Roulette. He pressed the barrel against his temple, tipped his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut, his hands still shaking uncontrollably as tears race away from the well in his eyes. ‟Come on George, just do it,” he shouts to no one else in the room. He lowers the gun to his lap and takes a deep breath. He wipes away the tears with his forearm and says, ‟Relax...” He reaches for his bottle

There’s was really no point in pouting, he supposed. He wasn’t sure if the whole organization was as tight lipped as Wesley was, but if they were, he certainly wouldn’t be getting anywhere anytime soon. If there was nothing they could do about his imagined predicament, there really wasn’t anything that he could gain from stringing this lie along for any longer, save for maintaining his image. But, judging by the other man’s coy attitude, he didn’t think he had much of an image to try and save. No, he was sure there was very little to salvage. Though, he couldn’t say he knew what he did to rub him the wrong way. As far as he knew, he was just a guy who may or may not have faked his entire story for his own personal gain. Even if that was the

“Bye honey, have fun at school!” The exasperation in her voice was clear as I walked out the door. She was tired of trying to help me. If you heard us talking, you would not even think they were remotely related. She is the nicest woman I know, she goes out of her way to help people, and I stay away from people. She loves helping out tourists; I stay away from tourists. There is a common thread here. What can I say, I’m just not a people-pleaser.

"That building wasn't meant to be a ship, it used to be a research facility." Anonymous said, focusing on the keys he was pressing, and keeping an eye on the display that was zooming in on Twilight's library.

Suddenly, the room exploded with extremely bright lights as the ships generators started up. With a sudden burst of blue light the pods hatch burst off and dissolved into nothingness. The human inside woke

The large brass bells vibrated through the monastery as the clock struck dinner time. Six strokes, and once again the only audible sounds were the brook chuckling away towards the sunset and the sparrow sitting in the pear tree, singing its final evening tunes. Inside the archbishop's room in the western tower, a quill was hastily scribbling away on a frayed piece of parchment with brown ink. Intricate forms made with the pointy tip left the paper with a brown painting of wishful words. The hand holding the quill was worn and tired. The nails had dirt under them from a lifetime of flipping through ancient parchments and book pages, and the fingers were handling the quill with such care that one might think it was their most prized possession. The body the hand belonged to was sitting bent over a wooden desk, one hand pressed determined to the wood, the other firmly writing the letter. Every now and again, mutterings of the writing escaped the chapped lips. “I sincerely hope... if you would only consider... gracious