Miss Clark: A Narrative Fiction

It came at a lightning pace and hit you from behind leaving you lying across the edge of the path. I hardly had the chance to stop and take a breath before thinking the worst, you didn’t stand a chance, you were taken off your feet and left for dead, you were motionless and bleeding; but I had to take a chance, I had to do something, I had to try and save you. I sped across the road to your body, checked you had a pulse, before gently moving you over to the side. I was more interested in knowing you were alive before I even thought about calling an ambulance. We were miles from the public streets and houses, no one-else could help. The minutes waiting for help felt like hours; I could feel myself fading away as I could see you slowly deteriorating. I held my hand on yours and held it against your heart, just so that we both knew you were still breathing; silly I know, but it was the encouragement we both needed whilst we waited for salvation. I was in such panic and to be honest, I was an emotional wreck; but you needed a rock so I said with everything I had in me, and beyond my own intuitions; everything’s going to be alright, everything’s going to be ok you know.

Pulling into the parking lot at the cleaners, he saw the closed sign in the window, but Rosy had not turned off the lights in the store. Rushing to the front Andrew pounded on the door. Looking up from the pile of papers she was separating, Rosy recognized Andrew, since his family had been her customer for years. Unlocking the front door, she said, “I called the police and told them someone took Mrs. Barnes.”

A short loud bang echoed through my ears and clumps of mud sprinkled on my pale skin like a cold shower. Edrenalin spreaded through my body faster than I could get up on my feet and look straight. The world was on mute, only a loud ringing whistle existed and it wasn't going away anytime soon. The high pitch sound was dampening and for some reason i was hoping to hear a familiar voice or sound that was of somewhat pleasing like my mother. But something more familiar started to come into reality, screaming. People were darting by me, like a sudden flash. I looked over to what they were doing, where they were going. And sure enough they were going over to the screams. A man who looked older than me was half submerged in mud and blood. He was

She ran to her and bathed her in the concern that only a mother could conjure. My hands were still frozen to my pistol. I had been holding my breath. The gasp the crawled from my throat had reanimated me. I lowered my firearm and stepped forward. She had taken to her knees and coddled her daughter. Holding her tight, sobbing through words of comfort. I contemplated reaching out to her, making an attempt to reassure her, letting her know shes not alone but my attention was drawn to Mr. Jenkins. His incoherent mumbling rang with remorse.

I just ran. Before I knew it, I was out of the trailer and walking back down the trail. That’s when the real fear set in, it’s strange how you feel so open and exposed walking on a trail. The trailer was sitting there it looked almost evil. I turned a corner and it disappeared out of sight. But the feeling of being followed remained. The trail was almost a trench carved in along a steep hill one side it sloped down and you could see a small pond. I began to visualize what could've happened. The different ways it could’ve ended. I wanted to go back and see if someone was really there, but I knew that would be a waste of time. I summed it up in my head as the wind pushing the door open. I still constantly turned back, looking over my shoulder to see if there was some truth to what I thought, if something was actually following me. It was a windy day out and as the wind the blew the trees would creak and crack. Branches fell off and slammed on the ground crashing down and taking other branches with it. The sound was amplified through the quiet and almost sleeping woods. It was strange, there were no animals, no squirrels or chipmunks. The woods were dead. I was still looking over my shoulder every now and again, still startled by what I had experienced. The walk took way longer than it should’ve. It felt like the seconds were minutes and no matter how fast I walked I couldn't keep up with the pace in my mind.

When my mom married my step-dad, Jon, in 2009, I was only eight. I had to move and I was getting a whole new family that I had never even met before, so of course I was scared. I met Mabel Hickman a little while after the wedding. She was a family friend that my step-dad had grown up with. Mabel was the nicest person I had met in my life and she made me feel very welcome. She was born on December 25, 1923 in South Bend, Indiana. She met her husband, Marvin, at Fort Custer when she was in her late teens. They got married not too long after meeting each other on October 31, 1940 when Mabel was only 17. Unfortunately, Mabel died last year when she got sick. Mabel Hickman is my hero because she never stopped being nice to people, even though she went through a lot or even if the person didn’t deserve her kindness. Not only was the nicest person I had ever met, but she was amazingly talented.

It had been a hard day at the office for young Frederick. He is trying to crack the case of the missing girl for the past few weeks. He’s just at a dead end and doesn’t know anywhere else to go. It is stressful for Frederick to balance his low paid, tedious office job with trying the crack the unsolvable that none of the detectives could handle. Frederick

On a personal level, Ms. Davis, my theater teacher, helped me through one of the hardest moments of my life, losing a friend to suicide. She was a literal shoulder to cry on and her words of wisdom are ones that I will never forget. In the theater space, she helped me find my voice and my place as a human and as a director. I never would have gained the passion and drive for the arts if it wasn’t for her leadership and her willingness to allow me the opportunity to work as her assistant director.

Jake watched Miss Collins’ horse gallop out of sight before he made an exasperated snort and slid the Winchester into the rifle scabbard. He’d scared the hell out of her. Good. Maybe she’d hightailed it back to whoever was willing to put up with her in the first place.

As she sat in the chair sewing and giggling, she heard one of the silverware or plates hit the table creating a little mentally twang. It was just a reminder she was not alone. She smiled abut quickly hid it as not to draw intention. She heard the smacking of hungry jows on the meat, slowly devouring the meat. She continued to sew. The needle wove in and out of the fabric, just like how she was weaving in and out of her prosecute. What if she was caught though? She knew this was all very risky. Suddenly from as is if she had been sleeping, she heard a voice louder than the other sin the ther other room.

“Yes, they’ve taken my advice to allow Miss Hartick’s reporter program to continue for the remainder of the year.”

I ran as fast as my legs could take me. My heart beating so fast I thought it might fall out. I ran across the corner hoping i’d lost him. “Only one…block...left” I panted as I tried to breath. I could see people. “Save me...please” I whispered trying to scream. “Clank, clank” I could hear his footsteps splashing in the rain as he came closer. I stood up trying to run with my injured leg. “Clank, clank” I could hear it getting closer, closer, and closer.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” Colleen asked as Nana walked across the library and gave her a tight hug. She was really sick of her friends disappearing when there were ghosts and critters about. Honestly, she was going to have gray hairs soon.

Wait. Let's stop and listen, for a minute." Patrick said as he stood, panting. They stood and waited to hear the sound again. After 2 minutes of their eyes searching in every direction, they heard the moaning again and they started running toward it. They came upon a rock ravine and looked around. Patrick stood on the edge and looked toward the bottom. He could barely make out 2 figures, laying on the ground. It appeared to be a man laying on top of another person, but he couldn't really tell because it was dark down in the ravine. Patrick motioned to Irene, to come over to where he was standing. He put his index finger up to his lips, motioning her to be quiet. She stood next to Patrick and they watched the 2 people for a minute. The man on top seemed to be writhing on the person beneath him and completely oblivious to his surroundings. Irene rolled her eyes and mouthed to Patrick, "let's go." But Patrick put out his hand to stop her and he mouthed, "wait a minute." Irene was turning to leave and as she stepped away from the edge, she stepped on a small branch that made a quiet snapping noise. As quiet as the sound was, it was loud enough to alert the man at the bottom of the ravine. The man jerked his head up to see Patrick and Irene staring down at him from the ravine edge. Patrick grabbed his little flashlight out of his coat pocket. The man growled at them. Patrick shined the small flashlight in the man's face. There was blood all over his face and flesh in his mouth from where he tore the person's throat out with his teeth. The other person, who was beneath him, was involuntarily twitching and jerking. As much blood as there was around the person who was laying on the ground, it's probably reasonable to assume that he bled

I was being chased. It wasn’t the fun games you played when you were just a toddler. It was the run-for-your-life chase. I couldn’t run any more, my heart was beating so hard; as if it would explode out of my furry grey chest at any given moment. My tiny charcoal paws had enough with all the beating from the sticks and stones. They really could break your bones. I stopped in the middle of my tracks, then darted to the nearest bush. I could tell that the black and white creature was slowly crawling towards me. It wasn’t very secretive with it’s steps, like a tiger hunting its prey. It was more like a toddler, dashing to the tree on Christmas morning. I thought this would be the end of me. It came closer and closer, and I could see the black fur on its back glisten from the rays of the noon sun. I was alone and scared. I couldn’t cry out for help, as no one would hear me. I dashed to the nearest log. It was a young log with white with streaks of faded brown. You could tell it had collapsed the year or two