Short Story Of Lucynell's Throttle

When Henry gets home and starts dressing for dinner Elisa nervously waits on the porch for a reaction on her appearance from her passionless husband. “She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of

Sarah slugged through the early morning work and realized-too soon- that she needed to make a trip to the house. She made her way, clasping her arms around her for warmth in the cold November morning. Painted Girl’s borrowed sweater did not help dissipate the cold air, and neither did the lingering whiskey in her system. A light shone in the window illuminating Grandfather and Dingle, who sat at the table together eating pie. She watched as Dingle grabbed a juicy strawberry from Grandfather’s pie and nibbled at it greedily. Grandfather must have finished his hunt early, Sarah realized. She had hoped to avoid Grandfather today but nature called. There was no choice, either the woods or the house. Sarah did an about turn and went for the

Her eyes fixed on the deadly scene. A dead man, dressed in a tucked button-down shirt and khakis lied dazed on the kitchen tile. She noticed the two clean plates left on the table as the half-eaten cherry pie stood still on the counter. All of the kitchen’s vibrant colors were now as shallow as gray clouds. Coldly, the tiles froze. Her brain blurred in bending circles against the light.

“Time for dinner” her mom called, reluctantly she shuffled into the kitchen her golden hair rolling lazily off her shoulders, she sat down in a worn wooden chair, “fish again,” she thought, never the less she ate dinner as she always did saying little to her mom as they ate.

She starts to walk on the path of getting to work. Barely awake and aware of her surroundings. As she continues to head to work she starts immediately regretting her life and choices. She hears the sounds of the street and the workers working. She sees the people that were at her wedding. They were exhausted and lacked tons of enthusiasm. They were all drained and out of spirit. She even noticed little Stanislovas who was ill from his act of overeating sausages and sarsaparilla. He is standing at his lard machine, rocking unsteadily, and slightly closing his

Malessica giggled taking a bite out of her pizza. Isaac continued to eat his slice of pizza, starting to think about the night before. Though he was in a crowded environment, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he wasn’t completely safe. Malessica noticed that Gerard had been taking a while to find them, taking out her cell phone. Calling Gerard’s phone, she heard it ring a few times before it went to voicemail. Something was completely off, which started to worry her somewhat. Isaac remained deep in thought, before hearing Malessica call his name.

Her mind awakened before her eyes could opened and a thirst plagued her. Soft lips were licked and slender fingers laced through locks that rivaled the darkness of a black sky, as though her mind ached. Finally, a fan of thick lashes lifted and one thing remained: the fire in those eyes. Though Bella could not recall the last few details of her turning, she knew that she had been turned. Fingers and she felt a slight weakness and a burning hunger in the pit of her being, but the girl trudged on with her new found self. Isabella sat up. The girl propped up with her hands behind her, fine digits sunk into the luxurious surface of a very ornate bed as she scanned the room. Alistair, was indeed there, but she stared at a nearby lit candle. The fire was so mesmerizing. The light dancing in her eyes as hunger plagued her, but she paid it no mind, despite how indescribably weak she was feeling. With a sift sigh her support gave out once more and she laid upon her side and watched the dancing flame of the candle. "Alistair." The name a soft whisper upon her barely hued lips. Surprisingly enough a soft little laugh escaped her lips as

“In the kitchen, he stirred the coals in the old Home Comfort wood range. The coffee in the black percolator on the side of the range was still hot. He had made it by lamplight before going out. He poured a mug of the strong brew and sipped it as he took a heavy cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall and placed it on the range top. He set the coffee down and dropped a tablespoon full of soft butter into the warming skillet and broke two eggs into it, lightly salted them and sipped his coffee until they began to whiten around the edge.”

Soon, Anna grew weary and strolled over and tried the door, but it was locked. Scared to be locked in a room she thought what if there's a fire? What would they do? Would they even be heard if they cried out for help? She knocked lightly and Miss Margot opened the door slowly and came into the room and placed a tray with two small bowls of split-pea soup on the mattress. Then she made them stand up and held their hands and whispered, "Children you must also remember to be as quiet as church mice." They both nodded and agreed to keep

Cosette was waiting in the walk-in fridge. “There is someone causing trouble,” she said. “I don’t know who it is yet, but maybe you can help me. Look at this.” She pointed to large flats of smashed eggs, dead, lifeless bread dough, and trays of pastries that were so black they were indistinguishable. She rubbed her temples. “Someone visiting my bakery is out to get me.”

Perhaps she had already passed out by the time he stood up, or perhaps she came in after he left, through a second doorway, from the living room. He said that he went down the corridor and tried to reach the children’s bedroom. In the hallway, he said, “you couldn’t see nothing but black.” The air smelled the way it had when their microwave had blown up, three weeks earlier—like “wire and stuff like that.” He could hear sockets and light switches popping, and he crouched down, almost crawling. When he made it to the children’s bedroom, he said, he stood and his hair caught on fire. “Oh God, I never felt anything that hot before,” he said of the heat radiating out of the room.

Although there was the familiar, homey feeling of peace, there was also a sense of apprehension that would not go away. Muriel headed towards Sister Leta, the cook who was busy toasting homemade wheat bread and percolating the coffee. Muriel started serving coffee and toast to those who wanted it. There was no current information at this point about what had occurred, or to explain the light, yet there was growing concern. Even though there was coffee to be served, tables to be set up, and spoons and napkins to set out, the reporter side of Muriel came out, as she searched for anybody who might have information about what was going on. She loved to dig for information, and this was a night to dig.

This passages provides the reader with an excellent description of the waitress serving Dayton and Christine at the bar. Christine’s describes “Red and green holiday tinsel still lined the doors and a string of colored light framed the mirror the mirror behind the bar,” which allows the reader to

About ten thirty that morning, she sent a servant to ask that I join her for brunch. It was just across the street so when the time came, Benét helped me dress and then I walked over. A handsome male servant ushered me in. It was my first visit to the townhouse since my marriage to Louis. I blushed, wondering if he was one of

Castiel sighed and pulled the white button-up over his sweaty arms. His stomach felt like it was sitting on the floor and his intestines were pulled in all directions by unseen forces. His head ached and his body trembled, but he felt fine; there wasn't anything that concerned him. With Anna out of the home and with an appointment coming soon Castiel skipped all his morning routines and went straight downstairs to wait in the sitting room for this Ben person. The grandfather clock ticked and echoed throughout the room. The taste of morning breath filled his mouth and that morning residue on his teeth made his lips sticky. His eyes burned. He was awake, but his eyes weren't cooperating as much as he would have wanted. The curtains hid much of the sun and small streaks of light came in. The little glimmers highlighted the contour of the wrinkles on Castiel's pants. Wrinkled, aged, and stained this was certainly not his best look. His hair was unruly and curls licked the back of his