The Bleak Short Story

Bull assisted yanking down his boxer briefs as the Doctor knelt behind the Sergeant and parted Bull’s fuckable ass.

Booker arrived at the chapel early Monday morning, keen to get his debriefing with Tom over with as quickly as possible. He was professional enough to know he needed to put his disappointment to one side and concentrate on their assignment, but the sting of Tom’s rejection still lingered. He thought they’d made a connection, and he’d looked forward to building a solid friendship with the shy officer. But despite a promising start, he realized he now had no choice but to accept what Penhall had told him. Tom was weird, and his mercurial temperament made it impossible to break down the barriers that kept him at arm’s length. Whether Will was responsible for his brother’s character traits or not was still open for debate, but as far as Booker

It seemed like a simple enough assignment. All she needed to accomplish was write a true story. A powerful true story. She could achieve that. Then why was it so challenging to determine something to write about? The fact that it had to be a dark story might be the cause. For a person who lived a privileged, private school girl’s life, it was difficult to consider anything to write about that was ‘dark’. She couldn't remember anything dark that had happened in her life, except for that one story, but she definitely wasn't looking to write about that. So, powerful story. She needed a true, powerful story that was dark and mysterious, and wasn't ‘that’. How did her English teacher expect her to come up with a dark story, when her life had been nothing but privileged. Of course, there were stories about people dying, friends even, but she felt that would be too cliche. Besides, people die all the time. It’s not genuinely something dark, it’s just something we’re used to. Then there were the stories about her own struggles, but they all seemed too personal to share, and especially for her English teacher to grade her on. So the last idea left to write was ‘that’, she guessed. She felt guilty even thinking about writing it, but she couldn't come up with anything else, and her English teacher said that she should write her first idea. So she had no other option then to write it.

As expected, when Tom opened his locker the following morning, he found a note from Tyrell. Typed on a ripped piece of paper, the instructions were clear yet concise.

Bucky had begun his fifth circuit of their tiny living room when he heard the tell-tale thump of the busted step leading to their floor: the board was near-rotted underneath the worn carpet and always slid out a bit and back in each time you stepped on it.

Arken chuckled softly as he ghosted his fingertips across her trembling forearms. “My gods, you’re so strong ...” he purred, and the huskiness in his voice almost made her gag.

A wave of fury heats my chest, melting the icy fingers. However, I can't determine who I'm more enraged with, him or me.

“Ughh, another bad day is about to start,” Jeffy thought as he got out of bed.

Jon was moving his room upstairs. Sure, it would be a smaller room, but still. He couldn’t deal with the two alphas in this house. Mainly when they were in rut, the grinding and growling from the two downstairs was distracting when he was trying to practice his violin, and not feeling weird and rutting against his own pillows, confused as he acted like he was in his heat with no other signs of being in heat. (-- removed HTML --)

Our story starts off in a small, war ravaged greek village. It is not technologically advanced, nor do they know a lot about science and how the world functions. Here, we find Ventra, a young teenage boy, using his wind powers to destroy a small market to steal the delicious fruits. As Ventra is on the run, he bumps into a middle aged woman named Brite. She thought he did it on purpose, so she blinded him with her light powers, knocked him out, and took him to her hideout. When Ventra woke up all he could hear is a woman walking towards him. The room was pitch black, until many torches were lit to light up the room.

The smokey air of Modesto California mimicked most other places in Cali, thick with pollution and smog, and near constant raining, making the earth a sloppy mess. A difference between Modesto and the other various bustling cities of California, was that it was far from bustling. In fact, it was mostly farmland and quaint streets, filled with local businesses and street markets. It shared its surroundings with various other small and pointless towns, much like it’s own, and San Francisco was the closest recognizable name on the map.

On an early Monday morning the sun rises over a small house located in a quiet town by the name of Old City of Rhoads in Greece. When the sun hits the small house, the house looks even smaller and the shadow of the house outlines the old looking torn apart boards holding the roof together. Even though this house looks old and small everyone in the town knows the story behind the man who used to live there, and the family who lives there now. The man who build and used to live in the house went by the name of Floyd Blackwood. Floyd was a master fisher man and would bring food to the town for family’s to buy and eat, because the town of Old City of Rhoads has always had a shortage of livestock. Floyd was basically a hero. He would spend his nights fishing, and his days building a house for him, his wife, and son. One day Floyd finished the house. And while his wife and son were settling in he decided to go fishing on his boat. Floyd went out to sea and started fishing but, before he could even realize how late it was and turn around he was trapped in a sea storm and did not make it out alive. The small house is now owned by Floyd’s wife, violet who lives with her now 17- year old son John.

One by one they stopped their singing to cry and embrace one another; they never finished the hymn.

His relationship with Hazel was finally going somewhere, and he couldn’t be happier. It might even be better than winning this week’s tournament. And that meant a lot, considering what Beyblade meant to Shu. The shock had worn off, and today he felt more energetic and motivated than ever before. His next match, the semifinals, were tomorrow. He was facing off against Orochi Ginba and his Omni Odax. He wouldn’t forget the promise he made to Valt. They would meet in the finals no matter what. Nothing could stand in the way of Shu when he made a promise, and that was final.

Kohen removed the Casimir effect plates and unplugged the Hawk-flow regulator, now the tricky part he thought