Lory By Scotty Face Short Story

The young man walked to the back of the bus, placing the woman into an empty seat before taking a place beside her. Her auburn hair fell onto her face, creating a thin shadow over her lips. They were painted with a dark brown hue that had been smeared, and dried black trails of mascara ran over her cheeks creating a painting of beautiful sadness. He removed his jacket and placed it over her legs. His hand slightly lingered on the cold flesh of her exposed stomach as he pulled her shirt

It was two days before Christmas, when Josephine opened the door to her 12 year old son’s room. Chay was the oldest of her four children, and the one she related to most. As Josephine sat down on the edge of the bed, Chay opened his eyes slowly. The dim light that seeped through the partially opened door revealed tears in his mother’s eyes.

While she regarded him so thoroughly he barely looked at her, except to make eye contact and give her a complete grimace so she would truly understand his mood. In the coming months he will wish he had taken more notice of her, had created more of a mental image with which he could remember her. Her mousy face, and dull brown hair. He honestly couldn't recall what color her eyes were. Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault, how could he have known this would be the last time he would see her?

All of these subtle artistic elements help accentuate the underlining theme of the whole story. During the progression of the story, the reader learns of Louise melancholy towards her position in her marriage. Louise’s weeping about Brently’s death underlines the difference between her sorrow and happiness. Louise sobs or thinks about sobbing for well over the majority of the story, ceasing only when she ponders the prospect of her new freedom.

Eventually, he ripped the quilt off of him, and stood in an upright position. Soon enough, he studied his face in the mirror. His curly, tangled black hair vexed him so deeply. The freckled, tear-stained cheeks on his face caused his heart to shatter. His hazel eyes

Lori’s face had aged, not much in the sense of years but in worry. Her oval face was framed with baby hairs that were too short to make it into the bun on her head that contained the rest of her deep brown hair. One of the first things you notice about Lori is her deep jade eyes, but upon looking at those eyes you can see the sorrow that lies within.

I unbuckled my car seat and leaned forward to see my mother’s tear stricken face. I had never seen my mother cry with such sincerity. Her mascara streaking down her cheeks, creating canals of charcoal grime that tarnished her otherwise flawless face. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she attempted to talk through another sob. The sight of her pulled me back to only minutes earlier when

It was a calm summer morning as Shirley’s golden hair tossed in the wind as she walked with her father, her emerald eyes glowing with joy and pleasure. She wore a scarlet short sleeve-shirt and jeans that came to her thighs. But this was only the cover. For if you looked deep into her emerald eyes you saw the remains of pain and suffering. If you could see through her cover of scarlet you could still see the scars of torture she could not run from.

Ace took the brunt of the pandemonium when she ran through the gate. In its place, silence settled. From their knees, Looey’s people shifted and steadied themselves against the gravel.

Sienna must have forgotten where she was, because the sound of her mother’s rueful voice startled her as she said, “My darling Sienna, do you understand?” Sienna understood completely. Dayna had looked frail, brittle even, recently. A shaky breath escaped Dayna’s cracking lips, and Sienna knew she was trying to be strong, to hold herself together for her daughter’s sake; she’s trying to remain on the imaginary pedestal Sienna had placed her on.

After Liz left us, Mary and I continued chatting even though I did most of the talking. Suddenly Mary's face lit up. She stood up abruptly, ran across the room, and jumped into the arms of a tall and very handsome man. He swung her around and kissed her on her cheeks, then lowered her down and handed her a small box. After she opened it, she began to cry. He smiled and hugged her once more, whipping away her tears.

She had only met him once, but she had written to him every single day, and he had done the same when permitted, when the weather wasn’t so bad, and when mail was able to be sent out. At home she had those letters tightly wrapped with one of her ribbons and shoved in the drawer of her vanity; after reading them over and over again they were almost too hard to look at now. The blonde, of only seventeen, came to a slow stop in front of him. He said nothing, but he couldn’t, he wasn’t really there. Her blue eyes, lined with red from crying peered over the stone, etched with words and dates, that was all he had to be remembered by. He was lucky though, most of the other boys who had come home only had wooden crosses marking where they lay, it seemed as if nobody remembered

Alainah felt empowered, careless, and regretted nothing. Garren felt the same. The next day around 10:00 am, Garren and Alainah snuck out again to have breakfast together. When they arrived at the coffee shop they ordered two egg and cheese sandwiches on wheat with coffee. They sat down and talked and laughed for a whole hour. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye Alainah saw her dad walk in. She was so terrified and tried to hide. Her dad looked and looked around but did not see them. He turned left into an additional area of the coffee shop, and greeted a strange older woman with dark brown straight hair and pale skin. Alainah couldn’t believe her eyes. Her dad kissed the pale woman and sat in the chair across from her. They looked very fond of each other. Alainah’s heart began to drop into her stomach. She truly felt like Juliet. She could not fathom what her eyes absorbed and her heart denied. The coffee shop turned all sorts of colors. It spun like a colorful merry-go-round. Garren noticed her confusion and hurt and immediately walked her home. They left the coffee shop without a

I turned to face the girl and got a good look at her for the first time. She was extremely pretty, probably even more than I was and I was credited for being extremely pretty. Her hair was midnight black and straight. Like the uncooked noodles in the boxes that I buy from the supermarket. Her face was smooth, there were no irregularities in it, no sign of any acne, and her eyes were bright and full of life.

She started at her reflection in the mirror, just sitting still in silence. The area around her dark eyes were red and puffy, from the crying of course. At first, she might only spare a tear here or there. But as the date got closer it became harder for her to control her emotions. She wanted to be supportive, but