Low Battery: A Short Story Of A Low Gun

An author’s main goal is to have the reader intrigued by the text with suspenseful and/or dramatic scenes happening throughout the story. The authors of all three stories (“The Sniper”, “Ambush”, and “The Trip”) all portray this expectation flawlessly. Even though the stories have a great chronological order with amazing characters, they also share similar themes and subjects. The following reasons explain why.

Since the Great War, America has always been accused of theft especially theft of land from Mexico. During the great wars, the United States of America sent troops to the southwest into the Mexican land. During the war, the Mexicans were forced down to the south (Greenberg & Shaffer, 2012). The American troops settled there and after the war, all the land remained the property of America. After the war, some portion of Mexico was given back to the Mexicans and the misplaced Mexican citizens were forced to change citizenship and became Americans. What we always try to find out is whether the American grabbed the land from Mexico or are the Mexicans comfortable staying in the United States of America.

“MUM! Wait!” I yell. My throat is sore, partly from the yelling, but mostly from the running. The thick, night fog blocked my vision of the path ahead completely, only allowing the occasional glow of the street lamps come in sight. I don't remember why I’m running or where I’m headed, just that something is about to happen. I trust my instincts to guide me through the maze of eerily empty streets.

“What the hell am I going to do now?” the reality sets in as a loud pounding noise is heard advancing up the street coming his way. The spotlight passes through the streets, moving in a timely fashion up and down the road and then against the buildings probing up the walls searching for something. One spotlight is coming from a large building about a block away, north of his location. Watching the streets from the darkened and watery alley, he stays put, careful not to be discovered knowing if he is spotted, it’s over.

“MUM! Wait!” I yell. My throat is sore, partly from the yelling, but mostly from the running. The thick, night fog blocked my vision of the path ahead completely, only allowing the occasional glow of the street lamps barely come in sight. I don't remember why I’m running or where I’m headed exactly, just that something is going to happen. Something bad; but what? I trust my instincts to guide me through the maze of eerily empty streets and parked cars. I thought I’d seen something move in the corner of my eye, that’s when I hear the deafening explosion to my right. I cower beneath my arms, ready to anticipate the blazing heat of the supposed flames. I don’t feel anything. I realize why. Towering above me, a pair of worried eyes cautiously

Most people stopped smiling. Screams were heard. Dancing stopped. Why were people screaming? All I heard was the beat of the music. People began running towards the front door, into the bathroom, behind the bar. Anywhere they could hide. I stood on my tiptoes to see the commotion, A guy was holding a gun, shooting us. Bodies dropped rapidly. My heart sunk. Where was Travis? Kendra? I couldn’t find my best friends. Still on my tiptoes, I looked around. I saw Kendra. Then a crowd of people engulfed her and I could no longer see her. I hoped that my friends would be okay before I rushed into the bathroom. A small pile of people cowered together upon hearing the bathroom door swing open. They thought I was him. Once seeing I held no weapon, they yanked my t-shirt sleeve and pulled me into the pile of crying, shaking, scared friends. I pulled out my phone, clicking it on then opening the thread of messages between my mom and I. Quickly, I typed a brief explanation of what was happening and where I was. I sent an ‘I love you both’ before shoving my phone back in my pocket. I gripped a stranger’s hand tightly, tears rushing down my face like a waterfall. A sob choked in my throat, causing my breath to hitch, letting out a hiccup. A stranger hugged me closer. The shouts wouldn’t leave my head. I heard them all over, I heard the shrieks, the calls for help. Why is this happening? was all I could think. I squeezed my eyes shut, throwing my hands over my ears,

Have you ever met a person who can speak Ojibwe? Well I am going to introduce you to someone who can. That is me, Kyler Patterson. I am a chippewa Native American from the Red lake band of chippewa located in northern Minnesota. My clan is Mikinaak (Turtle) which there is 7 clans, clans are communities spread throughout the reservation.

Being daring is a trait often seen in young people. For example, during the Winter, I chose to go walk out on the ice on a lake even though I knew it was dangerous. This is just one time where I have been daring as a young person. The trait is also shown in the short story “The Sniper” by Liam O’Flaherty, and The Saints, by Lex Thomas. The Sniper and Gates are both very daring through how they take risks and complete daring acts.

My heart began to race faster than a cheetah, my legs were numb, and I couldn’t tell whether or not I was actually running. The feeling of the crisp and hot summer air quickly entering my lungs felt rough, while the air was escaping even faster. As I struggle to look behind to see if he was close enough to get me I tried to exclaim while trying to grasp some air for my lungs, “Xouse, he’s gaining, on us, come on!”. As the hot asphalt burnt the bottom of my shoes off, I continued running into the alley of two apartment complexes as my cousin followed. I looked at Xouse, I saw the agony on his face, my vision went blurry, next thing I knew I was standing in front of a wall, with nowhere to go. I looked back to see if we were finally safe, and then I knew, I should have never left the by myself.

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,

I saw no one. Not a living person was near the cliff. No one could see me if I just walked through the barrier undetected. My gut told me to go back, and get my friends, that I shouldn’t go through the barbed wire gates without someone by my side. But my head was stronger, and I carelessly walked in. Behind the barbed wire gates was an area in the city I’d never seen or remembered the last time I lived there. It looked like one of those military sectors mixed with a secret science lab. The place was enclosed in gates all around. Most of the land was filled with white warehouses and small buildings. What is this place? What is this place? What is this place? Don’t trust this place. This place is dangerous. Stop walking. Stop being annoying and leave. They are after you.

It’s a pity one half of the world does not know how the other half lives. So too, what the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over.

The Starry Night was made by Dutch post-impressionism painter, Vincent Van Gogh in 1889. It was madf5e when Van Gogh stayed in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, when he still feeling more depression. Before, he even cut his ears because too much depression that he had that caused by he broke up his friendship with Paul Gauguin. In my point of view, nobody gave him respect and believed that Van Gogh really become more crazy. When he stayed at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, they prohibited him to wandering alone.

I woke up in the morning and I took my dog on a walk and I saw a moving van so I had went over there to see what was going on. On the way there there was a family of two there was a Mom,and girl named Sam the family seem very nice I didn't know about the Sam she seem very odd so I did not know what to think about her. The next day I got up and went to school in the middle of the day the girl next door was there and she was off she was rude and we did not like each other she had black pants and Black short and purple hair she look so mean anyways I from the first day I seen here I now that I will not like her.

James, the most famous student in Marshall Military School. He is glad to be famous. It made he easier to get a high class job in army. Near the date of military exercises, he think he can be even more famous by become the champion of the exercises. He waited for the exercises to begin, want time to fly.