Survivors: A Narrative Fiction

The fairytale, “Hansel and Gretel” by the Grimm Brothers, is about two children who are left in the woods by their parents. While looking for a way back home, Hansel and Gretel stumble upon a house made of candy. That house is owned by a witch who eats children. Before being eaten, they outsmart the witch and escape, eventually finding their way back home. In the article, “ Habits of Highly Successful Survivors” by Laurence Gonzales, the author describes the 10 habits of highly successful survivors. In the fairytale, there is one character that is an effective survivor. That character is Hansel. He shows the survivor traits “take action” to trick the witch and to find the way back home and the “stay calm” trait to help comfort Gretel.

Notes: Another survivor, Jill Leighton discloses information about her life trapped as a sex slave. Bruce, the charming stranger, prostituted Jill as his slave for three years. This personal narrative conveys explicit details of the ruthless abuse, as well as the horrid living conditions.

Have you ever been driven out of your own home? Have you ever felt like a total outsider? My book The Survivors by Will Weaver is a young adult fiction, written in third-person, about a family who was driven from their home outside Minneapolis, the Newells and is now living in a cabin in the north woods. The main characters, Sarah and Miles, are forced to live like the locals and are not supposed to come off as homeless “Travelers.” They are faced with many challenges that hold them back and also force them to do stuff they don’t want to do.

I sprinted up the stairs, taking no time to stop for breakfast. I had to make it to the factory by 5 or I’d be beaten. The fear of punishment gave me extra speed as I ran out the door into the smoggy darkness. As I ran, I tied back my long blonde hair with the ribbon tied around my wrist. I ran down the cobblestone street, careful not to step in any of the piles of mud. The streets were devoid of carriages, anybody rich enough to own a horse wasn’t getting up this early. The only people I shared the streets with were other children and adults going to work.

Staring up at the house, she listened. The constant banging of the door against its frame, and the eerie sound of a malevolent snicker echoing throughout the empty rooms were the only sounds she heard.

Brian Boyle has an unbelievable survivorship story. He goes into great detail from the time he wakes up in the hospital to the time he crosses the finish line of his first full triathlon. He has inspired many people and has beaten all odds.

Men would be fine and the next morning they would be carried out in body bags, they would drop like flies in the shower, yard, on the john and even mid sentence. It had been all over the news, tens of millions dead. He had come down with it himself, but in a great stroke of luck a cure was found and he was one of the few that survived. Only a quarter million were cured. Nearly 80 million dead worldwide. He remembered the night he saw his cell mate die as clear as a picture. The stench, something he could barely stand, was even stronger that night, smelling like how he imagined his long dead great-grandmother would smell like in her grave. And then there was that thud, a sick, wet thud, something that sounded awfully wrong. He immediately jumped off his bunk and hit the call button and flipped his mate's body and instantly threw up. He knew it had been bad, but he never thought it was this bad. In the moonlight his face looked like a bowl of cottage cheese. He is neck swelled like a balloon and even in the darkness he could make the dark veins bulging against his skin. Pus and mucus ran across his face and there was blood pooled under his eyes, even leaking like the final teardrops of a dying man. Asher felt around for a hopeless pulse, but only found an unnatural wetness on his

Maus A Survivor’s Tale, written by Art Spiegelman. Both graphic novels are about drastic changes upon Vladek Spiegelmans Family going through the Hitler’s Era. Vladek Spiegelman talks about how World War II affected his family being Polish. Artie Spiegelman is writing a book on how most polish families suffered the exact pain as Jewish people. The story begins in Czestochowa, Poland as Vladek Spiegelman and Anja Zylberberg got married.

I am a student at University of California, Riverside majoring in Political Science/Administrative Studies. what else

And just give up that easily? Are we quitters? Don’t answer that. It’s a rhetorical question.

I could not have turned the pages fast enough as it was the perfect combination of gore and science. When the story progressed to Nurse Mayinga’s tragic end, I was once again filled with excitement at yet another descriptive and horrifying death. These were the emotions coursing through me as an 18-year-old with largely no background in science. That one virus could so thoroughly destroy a human body was humbling and

I know I have said/written this often, but Dead End Apocalypse was one of the OCR races I considered a “bucket list/must do” race. Originally my schedule was to race Warrior Dash on Saturday in the state of Pennsylvania and finish early and get on the road and arrive to Canada nice and early on Saturday, but with a few days prior to the race weekend, I decided I wanted to also race at Tough Mudder, which was also in the state of Pennsylvania (near Pittsburgh), but was over a 300 mile drive from the Warrior Dash venue/event. I decided it was worth the driving and ended up doing both races on Saturday and then driving to Canada (yet again) later at night and arriving after 1:30 AM.

Anne and Jacob met in the street and ran together down the block, shoes flying off the pavement. Around the corner came the car, nearly hitting them, but they held hands and kept running. Suddenly, they swerved out of the street and onto the grass. Up the giant oak tree they climbed, then sat there, catching their breath.

Running through the trees and deep snow. The branches stretched and reached out for me as I crashed through them. The snow got deeper and deeper, making it all the harder to run through. It like it was trying to keep me away from the house. With every step I took, my breath was left behind with it. I thought to myself. “I can't make it. How can I?” My pace weakened, and I could hear Hunter catching up with me. “You have to make it Megan, you have to.” I thought to myself. With that self motivation I gave it everything I had. I finally made it to the edge of the woods. With the hardest part behind me I make it to the

The victims of the virus have been slowly “waking up”, but show no signs of life. Victims’ symptoms are similar to those of schizophrenia, and are becoming increasingly aggressive. There is no current cure nor treatment for this…” the news reporter paused and clutched the front of her head, “...now dubbed... ‘zombie virus’.” She moaned and, still massaging her forehead, collapsed. Shaken by what I had just heard, I looked away from the television. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a man trying to get into the room. His movements were sluggish and seemed out of his control. This told me that the virus was now spreading from the frontal lobe to the motor cortex. Not good, I thought. I looked at Stacy, who had also noticed, and with nothing more than nod we started barricading the door. After a few moments of shoving table and chairs up against the entrance where the man had attempted to come in, we had finally blocked it enough a tank couldn’t have gotten through. I slumped to the ground, weak from an adrenaline low, when I heard a low moan coming from the corner where Stacy and I had started to draw blood from the man. I slowly raised my head, and to my horror saw a gaunt, greenish figure rise from a slouched position. Flakes of dry skin shed off of him- no, it- like snow falling from the sky. But none of this compared to its eyes; black, beady marbles that stared unblinking with the intensity of the sun. a shiver of dread washed down me. Slowly, the corners of the things mouth curled up into a hideous grin, and that’s when I blacked