Short Story

Taking another deep breath to help calm his nerves, John folded the letter and sealed it with some sticky tape. With his hands trembling he handed over his most private thoughts to Josie. After they had exchanged letters they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Once John got outside he looked up to the hazy sky and let out a shaky laugh full of relief. Maybe just maybe Josie would be the one to save him before it was too late. He hoped that she would open the letter before graduation and help him put back together the shattered pieces of his life. Because deep down that broken boy wanted to live more than anything in the

“Hey, stop! This is the house” Gareth said loudly. The car screeched over to the side of the road, gravel spitting into the air. He got out of the car with the portfolio in hand. He always hated this part of his job; seeing the family’s faces when he tells them the news. He slowly starts the walk up the steps to the second story of the crummy apartment building. Maybe taking the girl from this place will actually be a blessing.

He sat up and scootched to the edge of his bed, sighing deeply as he considered the course of actions to come. To say the very least, he was excited, though nervous at the same time. It was a very unpleasant mixture of feelings that didn’t boil over well in his stomach, but he supposed he had to suck it up and muster what he’d been praying to do since the end of Summer, when school had started. Getting up now, he maneuvered to his closet and pulled out his jacket, putting it on when suddenly he had caught a folder of papers in his peripheral vision.

(The curtain rises, revealing an average-size teenage bedroom. Academic rewards are scattered across the pale pink walls, the floor unusually immaculate for an adolescent's bedroom. A bookshelf stacked with classic novels stands between the door and a closet; a closet holding an abundance of cardboard boxes filled with clothes and school supplies. NICHOLE slowly paces around the room with her eyes glued to a clipboard while ALLISON sits attentively watching her. After a moment, NICHOLE pauses and glances at ALLISON)

“Nicole! Guess what,” my friend Melodie screamed from across the street, “Someone stole a painting at the Louvre. Come here it’s in the paper.” She hurriedly gestured for me to cross the street. I sighed disappointedly as I trudged across the street, pulling my furry coat around myself tighter. I glared at my slightly short friend; her short light brown hair was violently whipping around her head. Her light blue eyes were practically glowing.

I won't bother you anymore, but don't expect me to be selfless if you ever need me." Was all Justin replied with, his tone of voice sharp and unpleasing. It made an uncomfortable feeling sink into my stomach as I watched him hurry away. With a huff, I darted out of the lobby, up the stairs and into my dorm. Vic sat at the small table working on what I could only assume was homework. It was still early, but I felt completely worn out and useless, so without a word to Vic, I slipped through the crack door to the bedroom, changing into some more comfortable closing before letting my body glide beyond the warm, silk sheets. I must've laid there for an eternity as I listened to Vic's scribbling on the other side of the thin wall. Suddenly the scribbling stopped and a knock on our door was

Damien stifled a small smile before heading back to his spot in the corner, where his only companion was his notebook. His warm, rich croissant now a distant memory he begins to write once more. At first he's slow, pausing, reassuring himself of each word he printed but as the minutes past he fell into a haze. Hanggliding, swooping as he tried to filter his thoughts into the ink before they fell out onto the page itself. It was only when he heard the metallic ring of the bell from the cafe door opening. His hazel eyes widening at who entered.

She surveyed her kingdom. A kingdom of concrete and grey, but as far as she was concerned it might as well have been made of gold. The shine of the windows towering up above were her diamonds, and the taxis driving by were her limousines. Her black raw denim jeans, fitted t-shirt, and sneakers were her ball gown and crystal shoes. She has a quality about her that anybody who crossed her path could see. Her blue eyes reflect the silver city and her smile could make you feel warm on even the coldest of New York winter mornings.

After bandaging her hand, she threw on a clean blouse, buttoning it all the way to the collar. She grabbed the bloodstained letter from top of her dresser, using it as a dustpan to scoop the broken mirror into the bathroom trash can. Exhausted she closed the lid and sat on the toilet seat. She traced her name written on the front of the letter with her index finger. Shocked by the news of his senseless death, she had refused to open Marcum’s letter. Now she wondered what would have happened if she had said “yes” to his proposal. She wouldn’t be in this financial mess. She’d have a beautiful home and wouldn’t be facing life alone. She wouldn’t have to worry about how she was going to feed her children. She turned the envelope over. “I wonder if he left me any money?” She slipped her long fingernail into the corner of the envelope ready to tear it open—then

Stella watched the whole ordeal unfold. Her best friend, Jara, was looking at the math test she had gotten five minutes prior when April, walked by on her way to grab a pencil she didn’t need a pencil. She didn’t need anything. She just wanted to she Jara’s test. April peered over Jara’s shoulder and snickered. “You are such an idiot, Jara!” she whispered. Mrs. Heath was oblivious. All she saw was April looking at Jara’s paper.

"You were a cute kid," I say aloud to him, smirking at his baffled expression. He was staring down at me with confusion, probably wondering what was happening and what the hell I was doing. I honestly don't even know what I'm doing myself.

A geocacher had spent a whole day playing find the next closest cache. By evening, he wasn’t even sure where he was, at least 50 miles from home. He had parked at a forest preserve ended up on a fairly deserted trail with just a couple caches he had found without incident. At this point according to his smartphone, there was only one cache left in the whole area, but it was just across from an overpass his trail was leading to. As he approached one end, there was a sign with the warning, DO NOT CROSS. He looked around. He hadn’t seen another person or car for some time. The overpass looked fairly normal, a wooden pedestrian walkway over tall trees flanking a fairly wide stream. No other way dry way to cross that he could see. He

She had almost been afraid to touch it, afraid that it wasn't real. She momentarily convinced herself that it wasn't the letter that she was waiting for. But it couldn't have been anything else. She ran from the post office, glad to be in the fresh air and very glad that she could stop going there. Her house was nearly a mile from the post office, sitting on the outside of town and she ran the whole way. Eleanor had been on the track team in school, a sprinter, and her legs ached a little as she slowed before her house. Standing on the porch she ripped the letter open with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the typed

“When I went on patrol, there was a criminal that set fire onto the house of a rival family.” Dick almost forgot Bruce went on patrol without him; he couldn't go because his ankle was twisted.

“Ugh,” I murmur as I carelessly toss my backpack and winter coat somewhere in our foyer. Then, I kick my shoes off relatively near our front door. I’m exhausted. The school day, homework, cross country practice, and a student council meeting all seems impossible to handle in one day. I sweep the fallen pieces of my ponytail behind my ear and push my large square framed glasses up the bridge of my nose.