Smiley: A Fictional Narrative

“You know why I am making you do that in the dance right?” she questioned me.

“Whoa!” In the corner or her eye, she could see that the boy had tensed up along with throwing his hands out defensively,” No! Not even-”

“Why aren’t you playing?” a voice in back of me asked. I turned around, to find a girl who was doing the same thing I was..

“Hey, it’s okay!” she cooed, “I won’t hurt you!” She confessed, as the boy looked to have started to calm down. “What’s your name?” she

There are no marble arches and no lighthouses. The river has dried up with the memory of the empire and the bones of a dead leader have long since turned to dust. Colossal galleons and crowds to greet victorious soldiers are no longer even a memory in the minds of those alive today, simply words on paper in books gathering dust in the darkest corner of a room. There is no-one to remember the beauty of the vast city; no-one to describe the sight of the lighthouses and no-one to recall the crisp aroma of the once majestic river. All that remains are the few paintings and statues that did not dissolve with time. The dust of the bones of men, women and children long since dead has faded from existence. There is no-one left to remember the man selling wares in the street or the woman grieving over the soldier she loved. Nobody holds the memory of the child playing in the park or the servant bringing a pitcher of water to his master. The meaning behind the statue has faded from everyone’s mind. The man, whose wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command secured his victory in every battle he fought, has dissolved into nothing more than a story in a book.

“Smiley, so young, with a winning smile, is perhaps the most frightening character, because he demonstrates how powerful an effect, even hypnotic, gang culture can have on unshielded kids. In his eyes, Lil' Mago looms as a god, the gang provides peer status and any values Smiley might have had evaporate. The initiation process includes being savagely beaten and kicked by gang members, and then proving himself by killing someone. Smiley is ready and willing.” (Roger Ebert) Smiley was a new recruit to the gang who was only 12 years old and was out to earn his stripes as a trustworthy gang member. I agree with Robert Ebert’s claim about Smiley being one of the most Frightening characters. Smiley being a fresh recruit to the gang, he needed to

“Wait,” Luci looked at Dr. Martin seriously, “you don’t seem to be too bothered by my being the Princess of Darkness?”

The only building not completely turned to rubble. On the ground just inside the doorway, I find a canteen still containing water. I am reaching for it. When from behind me I hear the twang of an arrow being released, before I could even acknowledge the sound a sharp pain erupt from my back and lower chest. an arrow head was peering out of my mail shirt. Stained with rust and blood. Through my mind ran the hopes I had for my to be son Atticus. For he is the reason i'm here and the reason I’m writing my story. I failed him and the centurion of the fourth. He has been doomed with the shame of having a father belonging to a lost legion, Before I knew it, I found myself facing the praetorians and legates barracks. It was only a pile of rubble and ash, but in front of the doorway perched against against the charred remains of its former bearer was the standard. beside it a set of wax tablets belonging to the legates scribe. That’s where I find myself telling my story. This is where I die, this is the site travellers will see there on. A man with an eagle upon his lap and a story in his

It looked like the sun had given up on trying to break through the iron curtain of clouds that it decided to lounge behind them. As we nervously walked towards the battle of our lives, the castle silhouetted behind us like someone faintly saying goodbye. The narrow barren streets were scattered with muculent mud and broken decomposed parts of the castle lay beside it reminding us that danger was slowly approaching. The street was a skeleton, stripped of its flesh. All that remains was the broken parts of the concrete structure. Quiet and derelict. The street was a river of the rusted burnt charcoal like concrete parts of the castle. Perhaps years back this street was immersed in pools of yellow light from the assaulted street lamps. Walking past the street lamps made the scent of burnt smoke go inside me like a barren soul. The street lamps were concealing us and we were inferior to the street lamps. The street lamps were covering us with darkness reminding us of the danger ahead of

We don’t get the privilege of choosing who we love. Ty definitely knows Andrea is a disaster, but the emotion behind their relationship keeps him accepting of it. In the opening Prologue when Ty asks what Andrea why she wants to meet her response is “for love”. Andrea is aware of her ability to manipulate Ty and uses that to her advantage, finding a way back into his life. The dialogue between them shows how aware Ty is of Andrea’s true personality. I’m between the idea that Ty genuinely loves Andrea to this day, and the idea that he has accepted her once again being a reminder of the great memories had together. I’m not sure exactly how Andrea feel about Ty, and with the narrative told from his perspective we may never see that. Either she

“Wake up you lazy lout!” the Owner of the theatre yelled at a slumped figure sleeping on the rotting desk in the room, who had a quill in hand. The room was stingy, dusty and boiling hot and room was dimly lit by a pair of tall candles and the moon poured it’s beautiful dim light into the room.The room smelt of smoke and burning wax. It was as horrifically smelling as the city dungeons.The walls were covered in full bookshelves with books and scrolls that appeared to have never been opened.He woke startled and terrified, ink staining the old wooden table. he was meant to be working on on a money making scheme for the theatre.

the smile remains a ghost across her lips, not quite there, but not entirely faded. unlike most, she trusts that evie is not bothered by her late request ; normally if she’d dare consider to ask anyone for company she’d fear it was out of DUTY than choice. a soft sigh escapes her and she relaxes, returning back to her sitting position. she keeps the distance short, but doesn’t brush against her. “ don’t worry about that, evie. i just sneaked out earlier than i implied i would. needed a breather sooner than intended. ” who was she kidding ? she always needed a breather. though the isles were nearly settled in their natural state, the repairs were far from solid. at least this time she was actively listening. small talk seems

Screams, now hard to define that from a warm flesh from that of a cold metal, fills the vacancy of the pale, grey sky. The sound of bullets rushing through the air sears an edge of my agonizing consciousness. I recognize, from the mound I stand, the town evolving into a caldron with a fire underneath. The heavy iron body never heats up directly. Gradually, it becomes warm; gradually, it becomes boiling; and gradually, it fetters the one, rushing to escape from a suffocating heat, inside its thick mass filled with the inescapable doom. From the chaos, which I refuse to believe, I see the caldron of reality.

As Mrs. Johnson left her house, she picked up her brightly colored handbag and stopped by her penny jar to grab a handful of good luck. She stepped out the door into the moist, cool air from a previous night of rain. Although it was chilly, her mission for the day could not be spoiled. The scent of the earth’s shower brought a smile to her lips and a bounce to her step. Stopping by the sidewalk’s curb Mrs. Johnson called a cab, and set out on her way.

The Spire rose high over the soot covered townhouses of Lower Forte, glistening in the setting sun. Thousands of windows twinkled, a starry sky brought down to the undeserving earth. Towers twisted amongst the walls of marble and glass, reaching into the heavens, yet still pitiful in size to the massive central structure. Along the walls of the castle, estates hung in the open air, giant mansions, yet nothing but fleas on the Spire’s flank. In one of the larger buildings, the Allrian senate concluded a meeting regarding the borderlands to the west. In an elegant hall, two fighters sparred with gun and blade, twirling gracefully in a airy dance. In one of the shining windows, a lone figure stood, gazing out across the wretched streets of