Short Story : ' Thank You '

We walked through the tunnel for about 15 minutes and found a magical place, it looked like a forest. We all looked around in amazement at the sight we were seeing. It was so beautiful I couldn’t stop looking. I saw a bunny that was red and had three eyes, it was kind of weird, yet the bunny was pretty. We kept walking through this magical place and we heard a cry.

After walking into the museum, you see the first exhibit- modern art. Ripping off a band-aid quickly is a great example of how it felt moving through this exhibit “analyzing” this “art”. While walking around, each piece just got more and more complexing but what was more of a conundrum

We came to a stream of light. Where was that coming from? Not ahead, but overhead. When we looked up, we saw a grating. There were only cold steel bars, unmoving bars, and not a way out. Forge on. The smell was all over us now and caused frequent gags. Carole asked, “How far do you think this tunnel goes?” I said, “I don’t know. I don’t even know where the tunnel goes. I’m hoping far enough to get under the freeway.” Carole squeaked out, “I’m scared. It’s really creepy in here.” “ I know,” offering some

As the FBI have been searching for who stole the paintings and reporters looking deeper into this investigation a statement; believing that there is no trace to where the paintings have gone has been confirmed. The main struggle of this situation is that the FBI and the Police, along

It was 3 o’clock on a tuesday. Seeing that it was nearing closing time, all exhibits in the museum were nearly empty. Room after room of artwork had no one in them, except for the few security guards scattered here and there. Wanting to see everything, I left behind my family and rushed through the vast museum.

In the first passage the federal agents and authorities had many challenges because they didn’t piece together all the clues that were given to them by the public. A reporter had given the FBI clues/tips to help them find the one who had stolen the picture. The reporter had found the painting in a warehouse in Brooklyn. He also said that the seller was there. when he told the police/FBI they didn’t believe him. I feel that during these 18 years of research and clues that were given to them they could have solved this case but instead they call people crazy so they don’t accept the clues.

One morning, I was dancing and playing in the wood, when my feet brushed away some leaves. Then my shoes made a sound like on wooden flooring. I looked down, and what did I see? An old, old trapdoor! I opened it and went down, down a stone stairway. It was dark, and cool, and suddenly the stairs ended, and I stepped into a large cavern. I tripped on a root and fell. I got up quietly, though I did not know why.

As I stood up, I got a clearer picture of where I was. I seemed to be in a basement underneath a house, and there was a desk under the window. It had a lamp, what appeared to be a photographic enlarger, a large book, and pens on it. Everything was old-fashioned, from about the mid-1960’s. In front of the table on the floor was a large crimson colored stain that looked like it hadn’t been there for too long. I shuddered at the thought of what, or who, it could have come from, that there was a possibility I wasn’t the first to have been taken here.

“I thought the guard said unessential persons weren’t supposed to be in the castle? Why are you here?” I asked, not wanting to get into why I was late.

Walking on the balls of his feet, cutting through the grass before him appeared to be the cave. Its exterior old – extremely old with cobwebs surrounding the base of the caves. Looking around on the left side of the medieval looking door appeared a handle.

After 5 minutes of pain and torture, I was back in the same place before. but this time I was out of the tube I decided to go and explore but I had to be sneaky. as I went off BOOM, THUMP, WOOSH. I Kept knocking things over. everything blended in. but I still couldn't find the exit. it was a neverending hallway. I got stopped by the large man that I saw

The maze's next divide branches out four different ways, each one seems identical: dark, creepy, and most likely holding a device or obstacle that will try to destroy me. My optic sensors pick up a strange rift in one of the corridors to my right. That could mean two things, A: I have a glitch in my optics caused by the lacerations I've gotten from this place which is causing malfunctions in my system, creating the strange illusion of an opening in the floor; or B: There's a hole in the ground. I'm leaning towards the latter. Cautiously, I wander into the corridor, sliding my feet forward to make sure I don't fall to my demise. The ground seemingly disappears under my toes and I stop, kneeling down to keep my balance. My eyes strain to see

Cold, hard cement floor is all I feel. I sit up from my back, wondering where on earth I could possibly be. Darkness is all I can comprehend, and the pungent stench of sewer burns my nostrils. “Hello?” I call out, but there is no reply. As I start to stand, my vision adapts to the pitch blackness and I soon realize there are gigantic walls surrounding me. I begin to panic. I fell asleep on the couch, how could I possibly be here? In front of me, I see a pathway leading farther into the gloom, I have no other choice but to

In these passages, Many authorities face many challenges. People have stolen many valuable pieces of art, and are erasing their tracks and are making it very difficult for authorities to track them down. Many years are passing by and still no tracks of an exact suspect to be found. With FBI help they are slowly finding more clues every day. They are searching for the missing arts and figuring out who was the last person who could have been in the museum that moment and time they were stolen. Soon to find clues they keep searching around the city to see if they can find anyone to know where the art can be found.

Two men walked over and grabbed them, as if they were sacks of expired rice cakes. They traveled to the Birchwoods of Nimbrethil. Once only a couple feet in two men got in front of everyone. Slowly pushing both their hands, they made the grass and dirt into stone stairs. They walked down into the darkness of the newly made hole. As they walked down, the stairs behind them raised up turning once more into grass and dirt. Two more people, this time a man and a women, got in front of everyone. They touched the carved out walls. The dark hole turned into a hallway, along the walls locked doors. They walked towards the door at the end of the hall, barely making any noise.