The White Space Short Story

There it was, the image many people imagine in their nightmares. I could feel the cold sensation running through my veins when I looked up to view the many windows broken. As I looked up again, I think I might’ve seen something move.

Inserting my key into the lock, I noticed another smear of red there. Gouge marks imbedded in the frame meant someone had tried to pry open the door, but the marks were old, they’d been painted over.

The tour went on and we got to this one part of the building where there was a metal door at the end of the hall and I could only imagine what that room is used for.

White spaces trump black experience in Suzan-Lori Parks’s Topdog/Underdog and Lorraine Hansberry’s Raisin in the Sun. According to Elijah Anderson, a Yale professor specializing in black sociology, the domination and subjugation of black experiences in white spaces is a normalized practice: “White people typically avoid black space, but black people are required to navigate the white space as a condition of their experience” (Anderson 10). These aforementioned ‘white spaces’ are defined as any space that is overwhelmingly white and often feel “off limits” for black bodies (Anderson 14). No moment in either of these two plays better encapsulates the sentiment of “off limit” spaces than Lindner’s visit to the Youngers’ home in Raisin in the

At the front gate, there were weeds all over what used to be a garden. The door suddenly swung on its creaky hinges. Pitch black. You couldn’t see a thing in the cabin. Every couple of minutes shingles would fall off the roof. I was scared. Terrified. Then I heard creaking floorboards.

The big metal door was shut and I couldn't open it no matter how hard I pulled and pushed the door wouldn't budge. I was doomed.

If you were to walked passed by the building, you will see a perfectly structured building until you take a step inside, an empty pathway with the ceiling lights flickering off and on as you walked straight down the path. There are some offices that has been demolished with holes and cracks on the old washed out colored walls. There’s papers laid out around you, as seem as they were being thrown out but not enough care was given to whether if it would have been made it in the trashcan. The hallway reeks of constructions being done on top of the roof. It’s the smell of steel and coal mixed together telling you exit the building if you don’t want to smell it any

I’m a simple man, dressed normal, act normal, eat normal, and I get normal grades. I have enjoyed the simple things such as my daily carton of milk at school. I am very into taking care of myself except for times I decided to be unhealthy. Relaxing is my joy, because it feels much better than sleeping 12 hours in my opinion. I would act proper at all times when i'm supposed to, because I believe in being professional when i’m not on free time. Being professional is a way everyone should behave, It is classless and rude to not be. I loved books that I can actually understand or relate to such as, comic books, fiction books, fantasy, and childhood biographies. Homework was a cruel torture device for me, because it takes up my time on outside

Imagine casually strutting down the street and you encounter this magical block where the buildings look as if they came out of different eras. That is what I encounter when I ran upon these two buildings located in Balmy Alley. The building on the left had a more rustic feel to it enough to say that you forget for a split second where you are by just taking a quick glance. The old wood steps are something you don't see often anymore. It seems like its wood has seen many rainy days, quite like today, and it is slowly losing its color. Shriveled plants now sit in old wooden planter boxes. All old and coiling around as if they are trying to hang on to dear life. Metal bars make it look less welcoming giving it more of a jail type look. Where I come from these pointy metal bars are put up for protection. Although the defined geometric shapes of the triangles and lace piping make

“Mama I don’t want to go” I said, “They are whites, what if they make fun of me for not knowing English?”

Thuck. Thuck. Thuck. A resounding series of knocks echoed from behind the white, paneled door. I emerged from the gap between my bed and the wall. Tears pricked at my eyes and I frantically wiped them from my face as my feet shuffled across the shag carpet. The door emitted a gentle creak and swung open.

We were finally arriving at the whitecaps fifth third bank stadium. We showed them our tickets and walked in, i got hit a blast of heat and the smell of all the delicious foods.

I looked at the screen closest to me, where I saw a house. The alarm went off, but no matter how loud it was, there were no movements inside. On usual days, you’d hear the sound of hurrying footsteps, the sizzling sound of oil on a hot pan, water splashing in the bathtub upstairs, and then the garage door would open, and the car would drive out. Today, it was silent. No movements could be heard in the vacant house.

In metropolitan New York, it was a dull, old, and common day working on the second floor. A loud noise, alarming and spine chilling, shocking me out of my stiff, smooth, and comfortable chair. Smoke was rushing into my packed office, chasing me like we were in a race to survive. Everyone was struggling to breathe the dense, thick air full of debris, through their hardworking lungs. Frightened, I evacuated out of my room, towards the long, never ending staircase traumatized. While zooming down, the building was wobbling like a teeter totter and dancing around almost like a ballerina, and I was positive that the building was collapsing. Heavily breathing, I jumped out the window. Debris was filling the air like a giant pump trying to fill up

Old, shiny, wooden handrails are freshly polished on brass hangers leading the way to a landing, they divide the walk up. Once reaching the second floor you’re greeted with two closed doors. The doors are a brown stained oak wood with an opaque piece of frosted glass in the center of them. Shockingly, there were no indications on what door to enter; reluctant to open one I glanced down the hall to my left. I noticed a beautifully polished handcrafted oak door with the same embossed brass Image Management sign as the side of the building affixed to it. The sign was a clear indication this was the entrance to the