Snapchat Victims: A Short Story

Throughout her life, Billie Jo faces many challenges. The one particular object that constantly affects her life is the dust. “‘Daddy!’ I called. You can’t stop dust!” (32) The dust is a whirling storm of death and depression that cannot be stopped. That, however, is not the only problem Billie Jo must face. Later, she loses what every child cherishes most, her beloved Ma. Billie Jo accidentally threw a pail of kerosine on Ma, and that’s just when the guilt begins. She attempts to save Ma, but only wounds her hands, Hope seems lost to her because she cannot even find comfort in the piano, the only thing that helps her through the hardships. People begin to point fingers and only blame Billie Jo, not her father who also caused the accident. “They only said, Billie Jo threw the pail of kerosine.” (72) This guilt pushes her into a well of darkness.

Snapchat is a photo sharing app where people can send photos and videos, better known as “snaps,” to each other. The app has gained a lot popularity in such little time, being the third most used social media app, trailing behind Facebook and Instagram. It is home to more than 30 million users worldwide, ranging in age, race, gender, etc. What makes Snapchat so unique is that the snaps only last for a brief amount of time before they self-destruct, automatically being deleted from the server. Many users praise such an app that can delete private information in a timely order without it being traced back to them. However, with many discrepancies recently happening with the app, it’s leading many to wonder if this app is as trustworthy as it claims to be.

The five foot brown hair sneaks into the home of Kierstyn Jones . A twenty year old blonde who works full time at the slaughter house . Nakita waits in the corner of the hallway in the dark , holding a syringe in her hand , filled with a small dose of Etorphine . This drug mainly used on large animals , Nakita uses to knock her victims out instantly , so there is no cause of struggle for her strength . Kierstyn comes from the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk , Nakita knocks against the wall , making Kierstyn turn towards the sound. “ Hello?” She walks toward the noise , out of the darkness Nakita grabs her by the mouth , sticking the syringe in her neck , knocking her out in seconds . Nakita drags her sleeping body into the bedroom floor , she strips her naked , taping her arms and ankles together and last placing a piece over her mouth. She begins to undress herself in front of the sleeping body awaiting for her to awake.

Critical Summary: How Snapchat Became A Virtual Confessional For Sexual Assault Victims by Chhavi Sachdev

My author is trying to convince the reader that Snapchat is a big scam and that all of your private important info is being stolen without you even knowing. The article“ 5 ways Snapchat violated your privacy/security.”, By Kristin Burnham is explaining different ways that snapchat had invaded your privacy and broke their own security rules. Burnham is telling the audience that all the funny videos and pictures are just too good to be true and snapchat is a fraud.The importance of this is that people need to be warned that while they are on snapchat they may be told that their privacy is secure with snapchat when truly it is nowhere near it .Firstly stated snapchat agreed to settle charges with the one and only federal trade commision after

Andrea sat in the break room, waiting for her shift to start at 8:30, her long, crisp black hair covered the back of the seat. Andrea had her face deep into paperwork but, then noticed Mary walked into the room and looked up, took off her glasses and wiped her forehead. Andrea’s porcelain skin, looked like it has barely seen any sunlight, or even touched. Mary and Andrea had most of the day piled up in paperwork, except for their breaks. At lunchtime, Mary added to her stories of sleepwalking into the forest, including the one early in the morning.

This was the first time Kimberly had ever been in jail. The process was not only completely foreign, but also scary. She was going to be booked and put in a cell with other women to await a bail hearing. Some of whom might be in jail for what she’s accused of doing. During the transfer to the police station she pleaded with the officers in the front seat. She tried to explain, but all they commanded her to do was be quiet and to tell it to the judge. Kimberly knew she was doomed. People were desperate. They wanted a face to put to the serial killer and they had picked hers. She was guilty in their eyes and nothing was going to change it. When she came to that realization, she slumped in her seat. She answered all the questions they asked when

The odor of rubbing alcohol stung my nostrils as she soaked a cotton swab with it. New girl wore latex gloves. She ripped open a package and prepared the syringe, her eyes cast downward. “By the way, you said pretty,” she added fixated on what she was doing, her contribution to The Station and to Peace. I had embarrassed her. It showed in her cheeks—a soft dusty rose color. Nope, no black widow there. Only soft perfect skin and burst of color within all the white.

The culprit asphyxiated her with a pillow. It all came, the cruel, light chuckle. Pouring the liqueur down her throat. Signs of struggle, scratches…Desperately trying to remember what forensics had muttered, I touched my own neck and found stinging wounds. I thought back to that immoral pleasure, the thrill that made me shiver even now. Like I did her a favor, tore her from life, but also out of agony.

Jennifer popped her head out of the ladies room, looked left and then right, saw the coast clear and made a beeline for the garage mall exit to where she parked her car. Clutching her purse close to her bosom, walking swiftly, the look of guilt affected her posture and gait, as well as her face. In front of her, the parking garage entrance in sight and escape within her grasp, she leaned her weight into the heavy glass door to open it by the polished brass push-plate that somehow tripped an internal switch that blended guilt with fear. Ronnie watched her closer than she realized because he stood outside the door in the garage like a loyal dog waiting for its master. She was muzzled to supply any explanation because she did try leaving without

Anna Beth Stevens grew up in the south. She was brewed with tradition in the wind and potatoes on the table. She always dreamt of breaking free of her snow globe town. She witnessed a sitcom once based in Beverly Hills. It left her yearning to know what lay in store on a separate coast. However, lighting bug jars and knee scrapes filed her summer. The tormenting of the neighbor boys would not do itself. Anna Beth was fearless and smart. When she was 9, she filled coffee filters with flower and cayenne pepper. She wet the bottom of them just enough to break when hitting the faces of the boys that lived behind her grandmother’s. They had no idea what had just landed in their eyes causing them to cry an uncontrollable cry, but they knew from that

“I’ve told you a hundred times already you’re not getting a gun!” Mary scolded Morgan, her face reddening, and her eyes narrowing in frustration at having to repeat herself to him over and over again. She then dropped her Marlboro to the ground extinguishing it under her foot. “You see that, that’s what I think of your hopes of you ever get your hands on a firearm are. There’s all your hopes, squashed under my foot.” She continued bitterly as she ground the cigarette butt further into the pavement for dramatic emphasis.

However somehow, she managed to get there, hot and tired, feet sore from pacing the bookstores and mind numb from the trail of middle-aged women whispering embarrassed for, “that uh Grey book.” She did, despite being surrounded by pretentious college assholes, love the excuse to really do herself up (not that she actually needed one). Easy on her face, she had only applied concealer and powder, but on her eyes were shimmer gold on the lid, crimson blended into her crease along with a dark bronze and a deep purple lip. She kept on her outfit from work, a white crop top stopping a half inch below her belly button, skinny

Glysdi tripped over a trash bag, hearing clanking as she sprawled on her lawn. Curious, she sat up and reached for the bag, searching for an opening. Inevitably, a protruding shard cut her palm, but the pain didn’t come to her. At age 11, Glysdi saw the cheap brand names on the beer bottle piece. She went back into her house, walking slowly past her mother seemingly unconscious on the sofa, her snores loud and irregular. The quiet inside the bathroom comforted her immediately as she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Tear drops mingled with blood as she tried to scrub off the metallic smell on her hand.

“This is all..” she struggled with her mess, “your… fault,” she finished, standing on one foot and starting to unintentionally slide sideways across Cameron. To catch herself, she slammed her gum-covered tissue right up against her tinted side window. Luckily, she caught herself before hitting the ground, but she felt inclined to add, “And this,” she pointed at her Louis Vuitton bag, “is an exclusive original!” Purple gum stretched between her, her sandal, her Camaro, and somehow, a new segment stuck to her bag. The heavy, sweet scent of purple candy filled the