The Leaving Short Story

It makes them prove that they can do anything that anybody challenged them too. Never give into pressure just say no and walk away no matter what.

She didn’t know if she screamed or cried or yelled or simply stood quietly, watching as the life drained from her husband. His skin had become pale, eyes squeezed shut as the last breath shuddered out, blood leaking from his lips.

The blossoming smiles usually present at dinner dissipated into cold stares that froze the luciferous flowers inside the house. Soon enough, the piercing glares evolved into vociferous arguments that ruthlessly destroyed my parents faltering relationship. Slowly, I began to piece together the puzzle that my parents tried to hide from me, but the truth would tear my heart.

Brian heard the screaming from around the corner as he ran, from his sick classmates. He grabbed Mia’s hand as he ran, pulling her into the library where they barricaded the door, and hopped that whatever was outside would soon go away. As they sat Brian thought about his sister Alica, his best friend Tyler, and the rest of the theater club. Hoping that they were ok, but also knowing that they could become one of them at any moment. When Brian looked at Mia he could see the fear, and the tears building up her eyes. He held her hand tighter, and tried to give her a reassuring look, even though the possibilities of them ever getting out were slim to none.

“Departures” touches deeply in me the reality of life and death, the melodies of the two worlds, and the human messages of a meaningful life. The transformative messages of thinking about death are so profound: from negative to positive, from rejection to acceptance, from resistance to letting go. Death is not a thing to be afraid of, but it carries a renewed future in reflection, reconstruction, reconciliation (between Mika and Daigo; between Daigo and his father; among members of the families who lost their loved ones). Death is a pause and a turning point for both the dying and the living to re-capture the realities that have been hidden behind layers of a busy and illusive life. In this world, there is always a place for care and love in

“Damn long day,” he muttered under his breath. He had been so detained breaking up a massive brawl in the Lower Town that he missed his regular evening visit with Fleur, which frustrated him. And the fact he had taken two elbows to the jaw during the near-riot did not help his mood, either. He was sore, cranky, and at this point, ready to lie down for the night. He would call on Fleur in the morning.

But now my daddy a mean mean man, Momma and him fight every night momma always sends us to bed when she hears daddy come home standing on the front porch, says we best go off to bed and be real quite like were sleeping and not to come out. She know we can all hear what happens her screaming at daddy ‘please’ and crying, the plates smashing to the floor shattering into thousands of little pieces, the sounds made when his fist smashes into her face. Momma don’t know I watch sometimes, open the door a little just enough to see if daddy hurting momma real bad. I ‘member once daddy was hitting

He watched for a moment, and then said, “I’m on leave, what, you don’t think I’d come home for my own vacation?”

The Leaving, is a thriller story that is about six kindergartners that had gone missing without a trace and returned eleven years later. In shock, only five out of the six returned and were so confused that they couldn't even recognize their parents. Everyone is looking for answers on what happened to the children and the sixth victim, Max.

The man gets struck in the back with a piece of charred wood revealing Gad’s mother had arrived to rescue him. However, everything crashes down and shatters in this unreal distorted moment. The enraged man rises up and lifts her up by her throat and questions Gad.

The boy released the tight grip he had on his mother’s coat. She gave him a small smile and lead him back to the house. He resumed picking at his dinner while his mother wandered around in front of him, wiping down clean shelves and glancing out the kitchen window every minute or so. The absence of words made the room

Her knees went weak and her body cold as this man pushed her to the floor, her hands snagging on her china as she went down. Soft tears welled in her eyes and dropped to the floor, mixing with the blood of her hands. Tears now spilling down her face, she wiped her hands across her top, across the railing as climbed up the stairs. She shuffled into her room, slamming the door behind her. She could hear the leather, pounding up the stairs after her, moving quickly to the door she stood behind, stopping for a moment as the handle turned and the door swung open. His expression was so kind, so familiar, for a moment she forgot the blood on her hands, on the railing, and on the floor. For a moment, she felt safe, her prince charming here to save her. But as his bare knuckles struck her flawless face, her shoulders hitting the cold ground, she came to the

My hands trembled as tears flooded my eyes at the announcement. “You’ll be moving to georgia to live with your grandma”, says my mother, looking at my tears blankly. Does she not realize all that I am losing? Friends, my place among my peers, all the things I’ve grown attached to in the few years of being here robbed from me in one single phone call from my grandmother. At that moment the thought of losing everything consumes me with grief. But no matter how much I refused leaving, I would still have to go. At first being there was difficult; I was isolated and lost because the move changed all my plans as to what I was going to do for the future. Later on things turned around completely and I was better off than I was before. In the book

A dinner table that is usually brimming with the conversations of a small family was suspiciously quiet and filled with an ominous tension that was cleaved with a single phone call. During that short conversation the tone of my father changed to distraught instantaneously, grandfather had a major stroke and it appeared he would not be the same after this one. A house once filled with laughter, fell to a dark atmosphere, and then an empty house with five half-eaten dinner plates.

I shot a look over at my Father who sat at on our green leather couch with his head down furiously dialing his phone. His behaviour didn’t surprise me as he always mentioned that what he did was ‘for work.’ My Father, Carl, was an interesting man. He was tall, lanky and had intriguing blue eye compared to my 5’9 height and dark brown eyes. Greyish black hairs dotted his head and his pale white skin reflected the sun like tin foil. He was a salesman, and quite intense about his work. Chuckling as I watched him struggle with his phone, I rose, and sauntered across the aging grey speckled carpet, reached up and pulled a glass from the rustic brown cupboard, and proceeded to fill it with crystal cool water. Putting it to my mouth, I felt it trickle down my throat and work its way down, down, and down.