Short Story : ' Amelia, Come Here

“Welcome home Father! We have missed you so much,” I cried. “Thank you, Mary I’ve missed you as well,” he said with a quick smile quickly turning back into a frown. “What is the matter; did I do something wrong,” I say getting frightened. “Oh no sweetheart, it is definitely not you it’s just that... never mind. Where is your mother?” “She went outdoors to hang the laundry,” I replied, biting my lip knowing that it’s my job to do the laundry.”Thank you,” he yells, already out the door. As I make my way outside, I see my father worriedly talking to my mother as a look of

“My mother stood in the shadows of our kitchen, but she didn’t look at me and she didn’t say a word. Uncle took me tightly by the wrist. As he led me from the house, my mother reached out her hand towards me and clawed the air as though trying to pull me back. Then she picked up my little brother and hid behind the door, but I saw her face wither with pain and, in that moment, fear gripped my heart.” (Chapter 1, Page 5 and

Anticipation brought a fever, a hot sweat to his face, my neck, and my hands trembled. I saw her as she turned into the alley. Puddles, slime and the pungent smell of rotting garbage filled the narrow walkway. I moved quickly, was almost within reach of her but she turned. Her eyebrows arched; lips opened. Screams filled my ears. I plunged forward, the knife awkward in my hand. Terror, stared at me, strengthened my arm; my fury drove the knife that slashed.

You can feel Her presence hovering above you, Her intake of breath slow and measured. Your eyes are glued shut, if death was to come, you wish it to be now, make the torment end, but alas, She was notorious for prolonging pain and despair. As you peel your eyes open you lower your gaze to the cracked and grimy tiles. You watch, entranced, as the beginnings of a shadow loom over you, taking the form of a colossal, yet striking woman. “Hello there dear Charlie, I see you have been lashing out, how undesirable of you,” She whispered in Her eerily sweet voice, “I suppose you are due for a punishment.” The shudder that ran through you was undeniable, She was cruel and relentless, and there was no escaping. Suddenly, you had a strong inclination to face Her; you were not going to go down without a battle. With a bruised and battered body, you rose to stand before Her. Once standing, you heard a resounding voice that surged through you, beckoning you to cease provoking Her, and flee, so that is exactly what you

I watched from the hallway as my parents finished packing her clothes for their weekend away on business. “Sarah?” called my mother as she folded a cream colored blouse. “Right here,” I responded as a walked into the messy bedroom. “I just want to make sure you are all right before we go. I put a list of emergency numbers on the kitchen counter, stocked the fri-”

“Don’t be afraid they said. Don’t be afraid,” Annabelle Alfonzo reflected to herself. Annabelle had concealed herself behind an oak that was as big as a skyscraper. The wind whistled around her on this breezy October afternoon. Suddenly, cold, generous tears slide down her plump rosy cheeks. Now, her immense blue eyes were red and puffy from sobbing so much. She felt as if she was just one tiny pebble on a beach full of sand. Yet, she knew that there was nothing she could do to overpower Ella Kingston, her bully. Then, over in the distance, standing by the large brick school stood Ella Kingston. She studied her energetic peers like a hawk. Ella looked like no normal third grader. She was a usual short, slim blonde haired girl. But her face was the thing that made you afraid; that made you turn the other way when she came by. Her head was a rather odd shape. It started off round and full, but as you went lower and lower toward the end of her face, her chin came out into a point as sharp as the end of a

She sighed and wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror, staring at herself wrapped in nothing but a fluffy towel. She had the body of a woman with curves in all the right places: ample breasts and a round bottom to even out the picture. She’d always hated that the most. She may have looked like a woman, but she felt like a small child still. She was pale- even by Arizona standards (which made hiding bruises hard)- and her hair was wavy and gorgeous. It was her eyes though, that drew in people. Deep, soulful, chocolate brown eyes that captured the attention of nearly every person she‘d ever met- except her mother.

The heat burning under my cheeks grew with my annoyance as I peered at my mom fervishly pacing towards my band of friends, undoubtedly preparing to brisk me away, once again spoiling another night. While she drew closer, I noticed her puffy red eyes and flushed face, for she had been crying, a repeating occurrence since the divorce. Seeing this, concern quickly snuffed my fiery anger, and I accompanied her without hesitation. Nevertheless, we walked in silence for a few moments, yet I couldn't tolerate the suspense, throwing a barrage of questions at her trying to uncover the latest dilemma. Since I wouldn’t wait a moment longer she stopped dead in the middle of the street. Following this, my trembling mother gazed into my eyes, barely above a whisper said that my father had killed himself.

Jane glanced at the main entrance again, and inhaled. Without delay she jerked her face away and gasped for a breath that wasn’t the sickening stench of rotten death—her lungs protested and shrieked in queasiness, as she heard the loud steps and sniffing of something around her and moving in quickly. She heard a clatter of fighting and growls, mingled by screams and wounding howls. Jane knew she’d die if they found her, but she also couldn’t ignore their threats, the cries of the people they were hurting, crunching and severing wings from their back.

My dad scooped me up gently, trying not to wake me. On our way to the menacing room we went. My dad place me on my bed, tucked me up, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and then left. Sometime had passed before I woke up. It was 3:00am exactly as I leaned up and glanced at the clock. As

"Sydney, come inside I need to talk with you about something," my mom shouted from the back deck. I slowly got up, after being interrupted from relaxing, and walked inside to meet my mom on the kitchen counter.

Her small, yet expressive, face is among her most lovely features. It’s something artists would draft when told to create the face of a perfect, untouched child. With gray-teal eyes that widen at the sight of nearly anything, a petite button nose, and pale rose lips that never shut, she has the ideal face of a human child. Naturally, her cheeks are plump as the corners of her mouth are always curling upward, even if just in the slightest. Her open mouth is filled with tiny teeth not yet lost to adulthood that she beams without reservation. Another captivating aspect of this beautiful tiny face is her eyes. Undoubtedly symmetrical, these windows tell so much about her youthful, blooming soul. Curly, graceful eyelashes -- which are unnaturally long for someone her age-- outline the oval shape like a cartoon drawing. The porcelain white of her eye beholds an ashy blue iris like a stormy ocean sky and a dark, enlarged pupil. The stories that the two orbs between her ears tell are endless. Sometimes, they widen in awe at a new discovery. On occasion, they scrunch together in protest to

This is stupid...” But the shaking in her voice said otherwise. Once again the man stopped, except this time it was to stare at this girl. She was…stunning for lack of a better word. Her voice was soft and melodic to the point where he wished to hear it when it wasn't quivering. Her hair shone with the light from the computer screen, which exposed the varying shades that made it up . She was perfect; A natural beauty. He didn't need to see her face to realize this. In need of a closer look at her he noticed that not only was her voice shaking, but so was the rest of her body. She seemed to have wrapped her arms around herself to cease such vulnerable looking fits, but it was all in vain. Was she scared? What were they making her look at? The thought of those other girls being the cause of her fright made his blood boil. How dare anyone do this to her. He'd rip them limb from limb if he could and not even look at their organs. They weren't worth his time. And then

brightly that day, and her grey hair was full of sun flashes, and there was such a feeling that there was a nimbus around her head. I stopped and started looking at her. She was knitting and her fingers quickly did something with the stitches. There was nothing particular about her, but her outer look caught my eye and immediately attracted attention. Her skin resembled a baked apple. It was covered with wrinkles, but it did not distort her appearance. The most amazing thing were her eyes. Blue, round, energetic. There was such a feeling that these were the eyes of a kid, who wants to investigate the world. They eradiated kind miraculous light, and this light made me come closer and closer… For the first time during the fortnight, I approached the old woman because I wanted to do it, but not because I was obliged to so. It seemed that she was not surprised at all, she looked at me, as if I came every single

I walk into my house, expecting it to be empty as usual but my mother walks towards me. Emotions begin running wild through me. I know my long caramel brown hair is damp from the rain and my clothes are dripping wet. Maybe she’ll shout at me for going out in the rain like she used to when I was a child.