Short Story Summary

Dorothy Allison's “I'm Working on My Charm” is a story of a young sixteen-year-old girl who works as a waitress with her mother. As a young daughter coming to the same field as the mother, the mother becomes a role model here and supports and helps her daughter on becoming a good waitress. She makes sure the environment her daughter is working on is good and that she is aware of the Yankees. Yankees doesn't see waitresses on the same level as they are. So, the mother is worried how her daughter will deal with Yankees and makes sure she knows how to handle different situations. The daughter is taught to use her charm to influence people. Also, Mabel, her mother's friend, teaches her how to bet on tips from customer. This story illustrates how an older person can be a guide for younger ones to be successful and accepted in the society.

In the story “Eleven” the narrator Rachel acts more like a child. In the eighth paragraph the character Rachel stated, “That’s not, I don’t, you’re not… Not mine”, I finally say in the little voice that was maybe me when I was four.” This reveals Rachel is acting like she was four when she said that sentence. Also, Rachel said “… I’ve shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner of my desk and its hanging all over the edge like a waterfall, but I don’t care.” This illustrates Rachel was acting over dramatic just like a child by pushing the sweater to the tippy-tip corner of her desk. Rachel includes,” … I’m crying like I’m three”… “My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can’t stop the little animal noises from coming

there is a fifteen year old girl named Lina who is preparing for art school, when all of a sudden, Soviet secret police barge into her house in the middle of the night, arrest Lina, her mother and father, and her young brother Jonas. In the middle of all the chaos Lina, Jonas, and their mother are separated from their father, and husband. The soviets are preparing to take Lina and her family through very cold terrain all the way to Trofimovsk, North Pole, from the small town where they made their home in Kaunas, Lithuania.

“The next moment they were in the shed, walking past the long line of stalls, when suddenly Nelly heard her father cry out: We've got him, sheriff! Block the door!”

From the moment George rolled up in the car next to him, John knew that this night wasn’t going to end well for him.

My story was about a teacher named alison. She believes that a good teacher is a teacher that gets to know her students heart to heart and not head to head. She thinks that teachers should get to know their students. Alison said her getting to know her students has given her courage to get to know more students as the years go by. Alison says

Driving back to my Grandma's had become the norm due to the lack of wi-fi at my house and minor, yet constant disagreements between my stepfather and I. Owning a gray Jetta that sparkled once it hit sunlight, had an aux cord to play music that changed as much as my mood, and worked perfectly fine filled me with gratitude every time I started up its engine. On May 11 my dismal playlist blared from the partially rolled down windows in the car as a few humble tears rolled down my cheeks. This day pressed hard on my chest knowing my biological father should have turned another year older, not stuck at a young 32. Life happens and you have to keep going; however, I could have never predicted singing "If I die young" by The Band Perry and having

The warm flow of water ran in rivulets down his body, the steam and soothing words reliving the pain that I had witnessed today: Seeing Paledon dead as a rock. The pain still yanked at my heart, making me feel like I was dying. It was the fear caving in me. I sat beside Paledon in my en suite’s spacious shower, gently sponging the dried blood from Paledon’s skin; I had wanted to try and clean myself up since I stunk to high heavens, but after everything Paledon had gone through (I still don’t know what exactly happened) I wouldn’t hear of it. The thoughts swirling in my head as I got back to the Tower were sinister and worrying.

The brunette with the wavy hair and thick hips leaned the pole against a tree and seemed to be looking right at me. “A little help?”

I was in the house looking at the sheriff suits that Deanna gave Rick and I and Rick walked in through the door and I said "I don't know if this is some kind of play, handing authority to strangers.The authority to break up fistfights.If it was just that, she should have given one of these to Daryl."Rick said "I don't know if it's for us or for them. Or maybe Deanna's trying to get rid of us and them.You put these jackets on me and you, have the people see it.If that's the play, that'd be smart. And she seems smart.Smart for then or smart for now?" This is now.- Rick was cut off by the sound of some bushes rustling and said "Come out! Now!" Aaron stepped out and asked You can tell the difference between walkers and humans by sound?Can you

Overwhelming: the force of the water pulling me down is overwhelming. I no longer know where I am, it has me in its grip. The bottom is gone. The surface is gone. The pressure on my chest is merciless. I can feel darkness sliding down me. Yes, this was the end. How did I let my friend convince me to try swimming?

Then faster than any of us could blink, he’s in front of Jeen with a hand through her chest and out her back. His fingers squeeze a chunk of spine as she gasps and drowns in her own blood. He tosses her as if a broken rag doll. She bounces once, blood splashing into my face as she lands at my feet, dead.

There wasn't a thing on television. I shut off the TV and lay back on the bed with a sigh. You'd been in the bathroom for over twenty minutes, making me wonder what could be keeping you. As if in answer to my unspoken question, the bathroom door opens, and the sound of footsteps approaches. I glance to the doorway and spot you. I sit straight up in bed.

The first thing that I notice is the ridiculously bright sun. It’s blinding rays make me clench my eyes shut tight, and burrow into the pillow. The next thing is the awful pounding in the middle of my head, and the cotton feeling of my mouth. I sit up and promptly fall back down. The movement makes my head worse.

An endless round of blood curtling screams ring throughout the night, almost as chilling as the cool breeze of winter back home. I bite my lip, instantly getting the bitter taste of the freshly drawn blood. It’s hard to ignore them, a pang of guilt hits hard to my chest reminding myself that I am just leaving them there to die. Their last breaths being the musty air of rotting bodies, their last sights being a dark shadow of nothingness, their last thoughts- knowing nobody had enough guts to at least try and help them. I glance around to the other men, still beaten but healthy enough to live on to the next battle. Some look frightened, some as courageous as a lion, and as for myself- none of the above. I am neither just frightened nor