Millicent's Time: A Narrative Fiction

"Kiara! Wake up!" My twin brother, Kyle, yelled from downstairs. As if I'm going to listen to him. My blankets have finally accepted me as one of their own and if I leave now I might lose their trust. The bedroom door swings open. "The movers are here and need to get the boxes from your room."

She'd reacted as hoped, and when her second hand lay over his, he felt the compassion and sympathy in that touch. "Thank you, Mirella." He'd whispered, with lips trembling, before he managed to shake off the memories of his lost beloved, and continued. Pickett's gaze didn't leave the young woman's for a second, and neither did his brain stop ticking. The man was curious to see her reaction to his revelation, expecting it to be dramatic, and he wasn't in the least

Anna Haebich states in her article that the government believed that the removal policies were in the best interests of the Aboriginal children, particularly of mixed race. However, ‘Millicent’s Story’ and the confidential submissions from the ‘National Inquiry into the Separation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders from their Families’ contrasts this view. The children removed from their families suffered physical, mental, emotional and sexual abuse that affected them for life. They were placed in institutions or white households that were and had poor conditions; however, some were placed into loving households. The girl in ‘Millicent’s Story’ was forbidden to see her family, and told they no longer wanted her. Other children were told

From the first hours of dawn a glacial wind lashed us like a whip” (77). The reference and depiction of winter usually is involved with the aspect of death and this was no different.

It was early one summer afternoon, shortly after lunchtime, when I heard my mom scramble towards the door. There was little noise, besides her loud stomps and faint cries through the drywall. The wind whistled faintly through my slightly open windows. Suddenly, the air conditioning kicked in startling me. It sounded as if it was a faint boat in the distance. I could make out the sound of the air conditioning through my vents. My brother’s television powered on, as well as my dad’s. They whispered silently through the insulation. Eventually, it all turned off and once again there was my mom’s loud stomps and faint cries.

The blankets were rough against my skin, the other children’s feet smelt like sweaty boots, the clock’s ticking was just loud enough to be a nuisance, and on that day I knew I do not like napping

It took her a moment, but when she realized it was her alarm blaring and vibrating on the floor across the room, she shrieked and jumped out of bed, running to her phone.

I couldn’t sleep. I looked at my somewhat dim, water powered alarm clock, wondering what time it was. 7:43. Way early. Despite being awfully comfortable, I got up, figuring I was just hungry. As I walked the the kitchen, I pondered about my snack. Carrots and orange juice usually is the best choice. ( This is actually a good midnight snack! You should try it! ) I made it to the fridge. As I opened it, I took in the cold air against my warm, cozy fur. Then I realized, that I was sweating. I dropped the blanket I had wrapped around me. Much better. I grabbed my carrots and orange juice, dragged the blanket behind me and took my time getting back to my room. I hopped onto the bed with my snack in hand, and turned on the TV with the remote. The button let out a quiet ‘click!’ as I pushed the smooth, plastic button, before the TV turned on.

"The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin is a short story from the late nineteenth century centering upon a young woman as she processes newly received information that has reported her husband dead from a horrible train accident. Due to this sudden turn of events, she has been gifted a new outlook towards her potential future. Throughout the development of the story, many literary devices have been used in order to help facilitate a certain set of thoughts and themes by Kate Chopin. All of which have come together to make an extraordinary literary experience that helps

There was a beautiful family that had boughten a new house right next to the grain mill they would soon start working at. In that family there was a husband,a wife,and 2 children. The first day in their house was a very nice day,and the family knew that would be the house for them. When everyone was getting ready for bed it became very windy outside. Not long after the wind started and they thought that a tornado could be coming,so the family rushed to their basement which they had not been in yet that day. They went to the basement and listened to the wind that circled around their house. The wind slowed down after about an hour so they knew it was safe to go back up.

As we were getting up my phone ringed, but I didn’t think much of it.

My purple blanket is torn up, worn-out, and very small. Its appearance is far from charming, nevertheless it means the world to me. That tattered childhood blanket gave me a sense of security that is hard to find anywhere else. When I was younger, I was afraid of everything, and my blanket made me invulnerable to all the “monsters” that lurked in my room at nightfall. Whenever I lay awake at night,

While Sylvia and Will are running away to the new time zone the timekeeper is chasing them in his car the next road over. Before he leaves the car to chase them on foot he gets his time wired, adding an hour to his watch.

As my fifteen-year-old roommate falls to pieces, panic rises in my chest like a leaping flame. She lets out muffled screams and chilling sobs as she buries her face against the pillow. I kneel beside her and whisper reassurances. “You’ll be okay.” “No one will hurt you.” I pray she hears me but I know she doesn’t. She is trapped somewhere else - somewhere she revisits every day, like a bad song stuck in her head for life.

*Our protagonists alongside Ciro are in a canyon with a sharp turn ahead, which will lead to the city of sound*