The Best Way You Ask For Beer

A scream starts in my gut-I can feel the cut, smell the dirt, leaves in my hair” (81). Soon after these thoughts, Melinda faints and falls to the floor. She faints because

But the police searched the river and found her body. Her body, lifeless and pale. They took her body, which they covered with a white sheet, to the morgue. Even after the police and the EMT left, I still could not move. I was frozen solid. I stared out into the river, watching the rain calm down and river become more and more steady.

I went to Violet’s dad’s place early in the morning. He stood in front of his house, waiting for me to get off from the upcar. I followed him to Violet’s room. The discs that covered her body had been taken away, and the signals, that were beeping behind her, had also stopped.

Soon after Eddy’s passing, it was clear that there were others like him, that were in danger of dying alone with no one by their side. Which brings us to room 107 in an Austell nursing home; home to Mrs. F. Upon entering a sense of dread washed over me, Mrs. F lay curled up in her bed dying. The day before Hospice Angels received the call that Mrs. F needed someone by her side to be with her

He felt his very core shriveling, wilting like a flower before winter's frost, but he still walked, aimlessly around the shore of the lake. He had no memories to aid him, no images to cling to, only the sliver of emotion it have left him. A cough snapped him from his daze, he looked around, the cough resonating off the walls of the cavern, another one joined in, bouncing from one side to the other. Had he gone mad at last? A tightness pulled at his chest and the coughing continued, he could barely think, his mind was too blurred to realize he was the one coughing. Erik's entire body rattled and racked at the violent fits of coughs he endured, he felt fatigued, so weak, he fell to his knees, the veil floating off to the side as he wheezed in endless

Laurel lifted her hand to her head, which she ran slowly over the top of her head. She kept her hand on top of her head for a few moments, a sigh escaped her lips. Her head tilted from side to side, as she thought of those that left her here. She wasn’t sure if they left her her for dead or not, there was no way for her to know for sure. A frown spread across her face. She closed her eye as she took in a deep breath, which she exhaled slowly. Her eyes slowly open as she shook her head from, her head lightly nodding. She dropped her hand from her head and placed it against her hip.

Bereaved- “ The onslaught of her fatigue, like his, was sudden, but lasted for years”

It has been a long day. The last few days have been long, drawn out by the uncertainty and anger my wife and I share. We have every reason to stand together, hold each other and lament, cry in to each other’s shoulders. However, we stand with our backs to each other, a growing distance between us. Our daughter, Malva, our brand new baby girl not much more than two years old, is dying. She is so young, but still the hands of death reach for her. Her head is swollen. Cerebrospinal fluid, the fluid that is supposed to keep you brain safe, protecting it from life’s falls and trauma. Instead, it is killing her. She has too much of it, it is swelling inside her head, pushing on her skull and brain. Despite the tragedy we share, Maryka

Marilyn thought that she died. Even if not yet, anyway she would die soon: two days without water, in the dark and cold, on concrete floor. Though, she didn’t already feel the thirst, or damp cold, and she didn’t cry anymore. When she heard some noises upstairs, and then shuffling of the feet on the stairs, she raised herself from floor with a timid hope. Accustomed to total darkness, she saw a strip of pale light under the locked door. When the padlock rattled, she stepped closer and stood by the side of the door trying to make out who was it. With her heart wildly beating, she felt terror mixed with a faint hope - was it her fairy rescuer, or cruel tormentor, that came to do away with her.

I slipped beneath the surface of the pool of grain, my hands sticking straight up over my head as I held my breath, preparing for death. I was preparing for the world to go silent. This was the exact situation my father had warned me about, and I had fallen victim to it despite that. Fourteen years old as of two months ago, and death had already come for me. Or so I thought. I felt firm, callused hands grasp my own, plucking me from my grave. The relief was wonderful. I drank the air in, filling my burning lungs with as much as possible. I almost laughed out of sheer happiness – until my eyes met my father’s.

I thought some piece of me would instinctively realize when she passed, especially since I knew the moment was imminent. But I did not. The nurse had to tell me. And just like that, the cautious optimism I had begun to let myself feel for the past ten days while they tried to give her just a few more weeks, burst.

In the article “Against Headphones”, Virginia Heffernan, a writer and to critic, claims 1 in 5 children are going deaf because of the overuse of headphones. She supports her claim by first stating facts about a study about “people who habitually blast MP3 players”. Then she provides the history of headphones. Then, she talks about in the 50’s men were drowning out their families with headphones. Lastly, she states her claim and tells people too “Make it a New Year’s resolution, then, to use headphones less”. Heffernan s purpose of this article is to inform the reader of the dangers of using headphones too loudly and too long in order to get them to use them less.

You mutter a bitter curse under your breath, mood instantly souring. Why the fuck do they even make those little shits removable, couldn’t they just glue them on? The default buds are already perfect, one-size-fits-all, you’ve never had to swap them out for the smaller ones that come in the package. The companies must’ve gotten class-actioned by some minority activists with loud mouths and freakishly small ear canals. Fuck them, fuck this, and fuck you too, Dr. Dre. You’re not even a real goddamn

She risked a glance at her father and was met with his uneasy expression. Before she could utter a word, he reminded her of the consequences her actions could have and the strain that failure would place on her already fragile condition. He implored Cirrus to seek the help of another instead because she was still grieving for the death of her mother who had died in that very hospital. Nevertheless, as the doctor informed her that Stratus’ pulse was fading fast, Cirrus made her decision. For Stratus, she would overcome her grief, she had to be there for him as he always was for her. While her heart pounded frantically in her chest, Cirrus hand shakily reached for and pressed the on button for the machine. She placed the two metal plates attached to the machine on Stratus’ chest as it whirred to life. Instantly, it sent a pulse of thermal energy through Stratus that would have either roasted his internal organs or evaporated the water. Thankfully, Stratus emitted a groan just minutes later followed by some incoherent chatter before he regained consciousness. Instantly, Cirrus arms enveloped him and nearly suffocated when they clung to him as if he could vanish at any moment. Afterwards he thought he was hallucinating when he noticed her face was graced with a radiant

In spite of this painful occurrence happening to me at twenty-four years of age, emotions such as shock, anger, and guilt, came into play creating chaos. I rerun her death in my mind, yet unable to completely forget the sadness, similar to a synopsis. These feelings can be frightening and overwhelming; however I have learned how to cope and with the realization that life and death are phenomenal both intertwined. I speculate that