Short Story On Lanyard Flew Away

However, as the narrator prepares to visit the bazaar, a shift takes place. His light begins to turn to darkness as reality sinks in. While waiting for his uncle to come home so he can leave himself, the narrator looks over at the “dark house” where the girl lives. He then stands there merely visualizing the “lamplight at the curved neck”. There is darkness at

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Erin muttered in a haughty tone, uncaring and ignorant of her scolding. The key gleamed in the grass as Erin went to retrieve it. “These rules are such a waste,” She thought. “people rave here all the time I don’t see why I can’t swing my lanyard too. Besides--I’m the best lanyard swinger at CTY!” Annoyed, she snatched her lanyard by the keyring from the sappy morning grass. Leaning up again, and putting the lanyard back around her neck, she noticed something odd. “Where is everybody…” She mumbled to herself, staring at the tranquility and emptiness of the quad. Neither Florence nor Jaquelyn sat in their chairs either,

“Bless you” she tells him as she runs in the direction of the turnstile. “Jennifer, Jennifer” she calls on the stairs of the platform. “Jennifer, Jennifer” she calls on both the platforms, on the train that’s about to leave the station, and in both the men’s and women restrooms. Roselyn makes her way to the turnstile. “Thank you, thank you, thank you” she says as she stops to say to the booth attendant, she zips down the stairs again calling out again “Jennifer”. Roselyn dashes to Luna Park, calling out the name of her daughter. She scopes around the theme park, looking far and wide, Roselyn runs around the park franticly.

From somewhere in the stillness, she felt a soft breeze on her neck and heard a faint whisper in her ear “Lacey....” A trickle of fear ran down her spine as she gave a furtive glance around the room. She was alone, wasn’t she? Were there vagrants in the area? Afraid and needing to hear a human voice, she called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

There had been enough time for something to change but almost everything was the exact same. Again Rye found herself travelling on a bus to go search for something, now knowing her brother is in fact dead she wasn 't exactly sure if what she was searching for was real. The only difference was that she now had the weight of two pre-teens. She felt it best for them to be as cautious as she had been while travelling around a decade ago. Each child had their own piece to communicate what their name was without using their words, it’s safer. Sitting on these benches Rye looked at them, the girl was the spitting image of her dead mother long curly dirty blond hair, a button nose, freckles, green eyes, and the perfect height for her age. Her was brother only slightly taller, with a darker skinned tone, and features almost exactly the opposite of his sister. The only feature similar was their hair texture. Rye would never admit this to anyone but there were times like the present that she regrets the events leading up to this very moment. The deja vu of running away except this time with hope.

As I drove downtown to visit Carol and Lee, I looked for a back way back in which would mean that I wouldn’t be seen. I wandered around for a while, eventually finding their house situated a few hundred yards from a McDonald on Bragg Boulevard and saw an alleyway behind the restaurant. I went to McDonald, where I waited a while before exiting into the back alley to see if I was followed. When I was convinced that it was all clear, I leaped over the fence into Carol’s backyard and up to the door.

After a few more minutes of waiting Anna decided to get out of bed and walk down to the food court to see if her father was there. After getting out of bed, Anna found a note taped to her father’s chair that she hadn’t seen before scripted in scribbly letters saying Based on your actions he might come back don’t tell anyone about this and he will come back unharmed. Anna hurriedly found the bag of her clothes that her mother had delivered overnight and pulled on a hot pink mini skirt and a white long sleeve crop top. After getting dressed Anna opened her door and stepped outside, there was no one anywhere to be seen. She continued to walk down the hall and there was still no noise and no one in sight. She walked straight to the elevator and went down to the first floor where the food court should be, but there was no one there either, the hospital had been abandoned and she was sure that the songbook and the object that played her melody the night before were somehow behind it all. She ran back up to her room as carefully as she could trying not to hurt her arm, and once she arrived at the door she grabbed the music book off the desk beside of her bed, tried to flush it down the toilet, and stuffed her cell phone in her bag of clothes that her mom had bought. She was about to pick up her bag when she heard a new melody right outside of her door. La, La, La, La, La, La. La, La, La, La, La. La, La, La, La, La. La, La, La, La, La, La, La. She wanted to see what was making the noise so she carefully opened her door and peeked through the opened crack. There nothing was there! She grabbed her bag of clothes and ran down the steps as quickly as she could but then she heard a voice behind her, “Aaaaannnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaa!!!!” the voice moaned “Aaaaannnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaa it isn’t safe at your house!!!!” said the voice. She spun around and saw a scrawny old man

Two minutes. All views simply fading from her mind into thin oblivion as her eyes focus on the rich soil path leading to the train station, always crowded by ghosts with no conscience; however, now the ghosts are transparent as no one is present. Walking towards the isolated tree, Adriana stands in perplexment as to why her true love is absent. A moist drop lands on her cheek, as a metallic smell arises opposite of water from rain. Her hand leads up to wipe the liquid, as a sharp intake of breath is audible when wide emerald eyes meet a blush red rather than clarity- A sharp hum fills her mind, starting gradual but heightening in sound, piercing ferociously through her ears, and numbing her mind. Her airway blocks as if someone has sharply dug their hand down to her soul, and latched onto her heart. Adriana’s chest heaves up and down rapidly, struggling to allow the once sweet air within. Hesitance clouds her conscience, as her eyes hesitantly trail to see the source of the bloody rain that falls from the sky. His round nose, his dusky complexion, frilly careless hair, black pants that cling to strong legs, and a white stained shirt that fills with winds that once were familiar. Her thoughts only stray to denial and nothing

Casey wasn’t keen. Staring at the grand building gave her an ominous feeling that she wasn’t safe there. A trickle of fear left her heart racing as she climbed out to follow Ray into the home where her four times great-grandmother endured horrors Casey could only imagine.

She knew the landscape of the sidewalk the entire way to the store, she had spent many days jumping rope, skating, playing jacks and hopscotch on that very same sidewalk. She passed the same houses along the way, the one where three teenage girls lived who played music and practiced their dancing with each other, the house where the school principle lived, and the house at the corner where a boy named Lindsey lived. Lindsey had been sick with the flu at the same time that Welty had been ill (156).

Next, a yellow cocktail music bursts as the cheers of people raised up into the air again. The crowd moved more swiftly around the garden, flowing, dissolving, and merging back into the same form again. The sky slowly turned orange –the sun was heavily sinking into the horizon – and Tom’s boutonniere enhanced its bloodiness and Daisy’s white dress dyed in an elegant yellow. As Tom looked over the crowd, all the immaculate white dresses that were dancing on the grass like fairies were soaked in the sunlight, each one in vivid, but lusterless colours. However, there was a ray of light that caught Tom’s eyes as he overlooked on the people. It was one of the house maids, sweeping the fallen leaves as her pale ring-finger gleamed a dull reflection of the sunshine. She was a woman with a roundish figure, probably in her early thirties. There were no traces of beauty in her appearances like Mary Pickford or a fashionable stylishness like Pola Nergi, but there was an immediate vitality that could be percept straightaway, just like Myrtle. No, exactly like Myrtle, Tom thought. There were no specific similarities between them, but Tom felt like a child who found a puzzle piece that he’s been looking for ages, or perhaps a fragment of a story from his favorite child

I’d become so consumed with thoughts of uncertainty, regarding Margaret’s antics, and whether I should adhere to my body’s urge to trail her, that I nearly became disconnected from the physical realm; and, if it wasn’t for the indignant roars of thunder, it’s quite possible that I would have remained, there, for hours. Promptly after coming to, however, the entirety of my body began to shiver. Each raindrop felt to be swelling with time, and I immediately wished to act on the situation, but my mind questioned how. I questioned how angry she would be with me, considering how she responded to even the minutest attempts of humor or to accompany her, and questioned whether it would truly be worth the

While they were walking there, a tall man dressed in all black approached Leah. He whispered, “Go to the art gallery and find the key near HM, then go to Skylar’s backyard and open up the locked box in the shed.” Then the man walked away.

She stepped out of Central Park, coming out of its winter wonderland magic into the cracked pavement and terrible traffic. Crossing the same street she had crossed thousands of times before, walking down the length of sidewalk she had walked thousands of times before, opening the large doors of the building with the sign that said Rosemund Detective Agency. She had entered this building thousands of times before, and spent thousands of hours in it. Another day in the life.

In order to captivate an audience, there must be a relatable basis so the characters and stories can connect to the reader. In The Thing Around Your Neck, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, her short stories encapsulate the immigrant experience and what most people face, but more specifically Nigerian women and the adversities they can face when moving to a new country. To demonstrate these experiences, Adichie creates short stories, to show there’s more than one experience for immigrants in the new world they face. In The Thing Around Your Neck, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, men are represented negatively in order to highlight immigrant women and oppression they face in society.