The Story Of ' One Crisp Autumn Day '

As my fifteen-year-old roommate falls to pieces, panic rises in my chest like a leaping flame. She lets out muffled screams and chilling sobs as she buries her face against the pillow. I kneel beside her and whisper reassurances. “You’ll be okay.” “No one will hurt you.” I pray she hears me but I know she doesn’t. She is trapped somewhere else - somewhere she revisits every day, like a bad song stuck in her head for life.

However, before he could fully stand, horrible cracking noises filled the air and he collapsed to the linoleum floor with a shout as his bones splintered and shifted. His spine folded on its self, and his hips wrenched from their sockets as they bent themselves forward. Thin membranes grew between his fur covered fingers, lacing them together so that they appeared more like dog paws than human hands. Pain tore at his face as it elongated and surged outward. A terrible noise, like a mix between human screams and the pained cries of a tortured animal, split the air; had he really made that sound? His mother was screaming his name between sobs and begging his father not to shoot him, but at the moment what he felt would help him most would be if she just shut up. The cold tile felt good against his burning skin; his whole body shuddered and shook, though the worst of the pain was over. He probably would have lain there all night, not moving, not disturbing anyone, if the rancid stench of Wild Turkey hadn't drifted to his flaring nostrils, awakening in him something evil and

And how twisted was the world, that his victim would forgive him before he forgave himself? That after he’d raped her, he was the one crying, it was him needing her comfort? She was always like this… this frightening mix of strength and vulnerability, both built upon suffering he, back then, could never even fathom. Now though… now he was beginning to understand what made her like

They took a sharp turn over a some railroad tracks and the back door flew open. Jeannette rolled out of the car, she rolled many yards on the embankment. When she came to a stop, she was too shocked to cry and she all bloody and scraped up. She called herself a burden, and said they could do fine without her. When her family turned around and came screeching to a halt, her dad got out of the car, knelt down, and tried to give Jeannette

Although secure in her makeshift safe house, she was by no means sheltered from the insidious scratching. The scratching was joined with another sound, one not so alarming in tone. It was a baby’s sob, sounding so hurt and in need. All of these things pounded in the girl's mind. What if it was her baby doll? Her baby needed her. She couldn’t reject her little helpless baby.

It was later that she found out that she had been kidnapped by an agency that sold people. She couldn’t believe it when the boy told her. Shaking with fear she began to sob again. Closing her eyes she willed it to be dream, but every time she opened them she was still in that bed, restrained, and wearing a blue hospital gown. She didn’t spend too long in the facility and she never got a chance to ask why the boy had been injured.

One night, thoroughly past her bedtime, Georgiana crept stealthily downstairs to sneak a bite of pie, even though her mother would never approve. She immediately realized a heavy drape of desolation. The only noise was her heart beating to the rapid rhythm of the twitching fan. Georgiana thought that no one would be awake at one in the morning. She slipped through the doorway into the kitchen. For an instant, her heart stopped. A dreadful sight stood in her way. An innocent and isolated individual lay with his hand grasping for life, but it was already over. Taking a step back, she

She looked at the child, safely in her arms, breathing steadily. She looked at the man, then turned her head at the semi. The semi woman had no chance. She cared for the child, even when it ended her own life. She cradled the child in her arms, quietly praying that he didn’t what had become of his mother. She didn’t know that the child was hanging onto her arm, sobbing into her sleeve. The warm, wet tears on her shirt had brought something out of her. She broke down in the middle of the road. She cried into the bright blue coat of the little boy. He was tightly holding his Teddy bear when she had grabbed him, but when she looked down, he was no longer in possession of such an innocent creature. He dropped it when she had set him on the ground. She stood up, looked at the burning car and semi, and realized that she had saved a person, but she was mostly proud at the fact that she had saved a child, no older than eight years. The police took her, the man, and the child into custody. She walked to the ambulance with the help of an officer. The girl had been silent from the moment that she had put her earbuds in. She hadn’t spoken a single word. Not a single

Out in the night Roger waiting for his next victim Mrs. Jones walks past and there he goes as fast as his small, nimble body could carry him, he grabs the purse and with all the weight of her unintendedly heavy pocket book and her heavy self he fell fast. Roger starts to understand what just happens, but it was too late, he was already being held by his collar. Roger started to feel hot in the face in which he figured they could easily see, but all he wanted was to be let go. Mrs. Jones started ranting again about how his face was dirty, but that didn’t matter to him, he had even told her he wasn’t hungry that was a bad lie, he was starving, but no matter what he could not change Mrs. Jones mind he was going home with her to wash his face and eat some nice food he stared at the door as she turned him loose but he didn’t run so he washed his face. Roger sat where she could not see him and decided to move to show trust.

Through details, choice of words and especially the style in which this story is written, Callie, the narrator, guides our responses as well as our views of the events and people. From Callie “…remember[ing] exactly”(1) how it all started to finally telling us that she “…want[s] to get better”(150) we grow to understand what caused her sense of hopelessness and how she came to deal with wanting to cut herself.

All of it was consumed by his physical exertions, and with his body covering the smaller woman's, the man raped her without mercy. Eech thrust came faster, and was harder than the last as as he bent his knees, then uncurled his legs to drive his meat into her deeper. Her walls spread around him, and as he fucked her, one hand slipped from her arms to hook into the tresses as the nape of her neck. However, instead of tearing at it, as he had previously, he used his grip to shove her face-down on the sofa, so that her face was out of view, and her own sounds muffled. Tom Ross didn't want to even look at her, or hear at her, as Lila Ross was no longer a human being, simply just simply a toy with a cunt to be used for his pleasure, and soon the room was filled with the sounds of his harsh breathing, pants and groans, the slap of his balls against her thighs, and his cock brutallly slamming in and out of her

“Come on Zoe, no more bargaining for today,” Demetri concluded, pulling her through the thickening crowds. All the fish shops were now packed full and Demetri and Zoe had to wait on the outskirts of the mound of people. Zoe was bumping into him the whole time. Demetri steadied her when he could. But there was one bump that was different. When she fell against him that time, she pressed against him and held onto his arm firmly. Sensing a bit of her desperation, Demetri turned his head down to her. “Zoe?” As he looked to her tiny frame, he saw a hand upon her thigh. The hand was lifting up her tunic and a group of men were laughing behind them. Demetri only needed half a second to see that before the fury inside him broke loose. The man didn’t even see the punch coming until

Purple bruises were scattered across her frail wrist like grotesque, swollen beetles. Her knee jutted out awkwardly to her side. Her bleeding, cracked lips were shrunken to a tiny buttonhole. Her tongue stuck out between her teeth like a piece of rubber. Her eyelids fluttered feebly as she lay there - defeated, defenseless, and desolate. Her chest heaved up and down, as her lungs fought for breath – she was barely alive. A caked, muddy trail of shoeprints followed him out the door. He had gotten away again. Tears prickled at the back of my eyes. My throat swelled up as my steely resolve began to dissolve. Grief shook my shoulders like an inner earthquake, the world around me crashing down. A nauseating mixture of relief and horror clenched tightly onto my loins – like when you finally stop an itch, only to realize that you’ve ripped a hole in your

The heartbreaking images of my cousin ran through my mind; the bruises on her arms and neck were so many; they might as well have been prints made by a kid playing with an ink stamp. If only! Her bodily sanctity had been forcefully besmirched in her marital home as her monster of a husband had repeatedly lashed her with whips.

Misty dew covers the entire surface of the field. The yellowing corn stalks stand erect and proud until my grandpas tractor comes to end their growth. Autumn slowly weaves its way in and leaves a stain of brilliant color in its wake. Not everyone enjoys such colors, but when you take a second to step outside your doorstep, and look at all the wonders that surround you, you’d be surprised at how marvelous the world can truly be. To me, Autumn is a time for relishing in the colors. Soaking in the oranges and reds while sitting by a warm fire. It’s a time for remembering that everything does end, but it does not have to end in the dreadful way we think it will. Autumn is a time for the closeness of others to keep out the chill of the morning and the starry-eyed darkness of the night.