Metal Chains: A Short Story

stand. I let out a little shriek of pain as I put weight on my leg. I glanced back and up to try and see

I went to my mother’s house and waited for him. This was the end for him, he suddenly appeared and was surprised to see me, and we saw each other for likes 2 minutes in complete silence until I told him I knew everything. He saw me with anger and said “you know I can kill you right?” I answered “I know, but you know I can arrest you right?” He laugh and said we will see john.

So much pain, so much blood. Everything was fuzzy, people looked like splotches blocking my vision. The yelling. It’s getting louder. I look for light, but only darkness is here now. There. Under the door. I try my hardest to lift the fallen door, but a shooting pain propels up my leg so I stop. “

Section 2 There are numerous clashes introduce in Mary Shelley's novel Frankenstein. Clashes are exhibited in two separate ways: inner clash and outside clash. Inner clash is the contention which exists inside a man or character (man verses self). Outside clash is the contention one countenances with outside strengths (man verses man, otherworldly, and nature). Inner Conflict

“Uhhhh...” is all I could manage to articulate as my mind is quickly turns to mush from his hands explorations.

I awoke to a cacophony of screams, both of excitement and of pain. I jolted up quickly, unable to control my own muscles or vocal chords, as if a spectre was holding me back with airy fingers of death.

I don’t reply and I don’t do what he wants. There’s no way on earth, I’m listening to him. His arm constricts around my neck and I gasp for air, dizziness flowing through me. I wonder how long I can hold out, but I don’t take that chance. “Alright,” I gasp, angrily.

She screams. She runs out of the cell, pushes Duncan to the ground and runs down the hall. She glances in the cells to see the other people in the dungeon with the ugly features. They look sick. Duncan is chasing her.

I hear the sickening sound of a bullet hitting flesh. I look to my right in horror and see my friend, my best bud, lying on the in a pool of blood.

I would shut my eyes because I knew what was coming. And before I shut my eyes, I held my breath, like a swimmer ready to dive into a deep ocean. I could never watch when his hands came toward me; I only patiently waited for the harsh sound of the strike. I would always remember his eyes right before I closed my own: pupils wide with rage, cold, and dark eyebrows clenched with hate. When it finally came, I never knew which fist hit me first, or which blow sent me to my knees because I could not bring myself to open my eyes. They were closed because I didn’t want to see what he had promised he would never do again. In the darkness of my mind, I could escape to a paradise where he would never reach me. I would find again the haven where I

I could feel the blood pounding in my chest. Blackness crept into the fringes of my vision. My voice was hoarse from screaming; I didn’t remember screaming though.

He rushes to what’s left of his home, his clothes stained with paint, his eyes red

As my car climbed the hill, my heart sunk into my stomach. I parked as far away from my friends as I could and quickly exited the car, not once looking at them. Now it was every man for himself. Emerging into the open air, I suddenly became aware of myself. I could feel my puffy, blood-shot eyes. My palms became slimy. My fingers clinched into a fist and my nails dug into my skin. My sight blurred and my tunnel of vision tried to focus on the front door. Every step seemed more awkward than the last. Eyes pierced me from all sides. I felt naked. My body trembled like a sheep in the midst of wolves.

I could feel the slightest warmth against my pale cheeks. I hear the slow buzz of the machinery ,which goes unnoticed by our human customers.They are deaf to everything...I smell the acidic soap ,the other vampires beyond the door. They had no scent to humans, but of course I could smell them.I could smell everything, see everything to no avail on my behalf. I was hunter made to kill and yet I was as docile as a frightened child. Here I was washing my immortality away slowly breath . Sometimes I would wear the dresses I found pretty ,but quickly tore them off. I would go off of rampages and break the equipment,burn the clothes, sometimes not even show up to this prison. I would throw soap bottles at the customers (my bottle throwing ended up crushing their faces in).I would shriek and scream at them in incoherent syllables . But what had I done? except leave these patrons in agonizing pain. Ear bleeding,heart stopping pain that made them wonder what kind of drug this drycleaner was taking to produce such dramatic results from such short fits of rage. They were all thinking I needed a long vacation,a better boss,money,a lover,but none of them could knew of anything I even remotely wanted. My nails scratched the countertop ,tssssk ,and I felt the blood on my tongue from my fangs cutting into my lips ,it was tasteless ...Like this whole business I was damned too

Scuttling innocently through the twisting corridors I bore the same expression; head down, shoulders hunched, avoiding any eye contact - my desperate attempts to deter the despot for one day at least. Despite my efforts, there was no escape, as seemingly within the second of having that naively optimistic thought, a cruel, callous voice demanded I surrender my broach. Fear spiked, as it always did, but with it came something else, an alien emotion ... Looking back now, I see that it must have been the cumulative effect of months of torment that brought me to the realisation that at this point I had reached the nadir of my life. Deriding cackles pierced my ears and this time I recognised the emotion, fury. It burned through my veins, along with the memories of the past to form a feeling of overwhelming power. I met the daggers that would usually invoke terror, and calmly, I said “No.”