The World : A Short Story

Perspective. Something that shapes and molds people's worlds based on where they are born, grow and age fixes their view of the place where we live. In the short story , "Where the world began" by Margret Laurence, she discusses her experience of living in the prairies and where her world began has shaped her identity today. Our place of residence maybe another place for someone else, although there are strong feelings, beliefs and parts of personality that can be associated with a community.

“ But what will happen once they come back and find me gone? What will happen to you ?“ She says while she frantically follows him . She knows that he is worried as well and is terrified of what would happen if he doesn't do anything.

It was another beautiful Sunday, dry, this young man just got out of church, and he got a page that there has been a fire. Leaving immediately he would never have prepared himself for the long night ahead of him. Arrived at the station and opened the doors this young man texted his mother telling her he was headed to a fire, things were going by so quickly. As the time progressed, all he could do is make sure the flames didn’t continue to spread, with nothing but boots, and a backpack sprayer full of water to put out the flames that were stretching for as far as the eye could see, not but knee high yet the effect it had mentally was petrifying. Through the trees and debris he could see flames as high as the trees, except there were no trees, what once was close to two hundred acres of trees has now been turned to ash by an extremely dangerous force. After all the men had left at about four in the morning, trying to sleep was impossible, he was worn, tired, couldn’t breathe because of smoke inhalation, and the images of the destruction caused by a single flame were haunting him. Silently he realized the true dangers of flames. He

A campfire crackles in the middle of the car park, projecting long shadows on the surrounding area. The intensity and excitement of the flames create a dance in the moonlight. Sparks fly into the air and fall unnoticed as a blackened charcoal fleck. When did I…

Sheriff Eldritch Meeks straightened his hat and emerged from the Chevy Bel Air. Its beacon singed into the back of his neck. Red. Eldritch watched thin sheets of dust sweep down the highway. Everything was fuzzy. He wiped rain from his eyes and took a deep breath. The knife twisted harder into his brainstem. Headaches. The pain was getting worse. Stabbing. Pinching. Wriggling. Eldritch needed a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He needed a fucking detox. But it would have to wait.

Joyce Dennys says that, “Living in a small town…is like living in a large family of rather uncongenial relations. Sometimes it’s fun and sometimes it’s perfectly awful, but it’s always good for you.” In To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee uses a stereotypical small town, Maycomb, Alabama to show that living in a small settlement means that everyone knows everyone else’s business, which can bring the community tremendously close together. Through Lee’s protagonist, narrator Scout Finch, Lee is able to flashback to Scout’s life in the seemingly peaceful and quiet Maycomb. However, when Scout and Jem, her brother, start to grow up, they begin to realize that the social hierarchy in Maycomb County is irrational and

"Okay, so because Dak has the power to transform shapes of things and people, he has made each of us a tent in a part of Washington only we know about. We're going to have to stay here and plan until we stop Cassius because this is the most vulnerable part of the nation: the country's capital," Violet explained as she lead me to my tent.

Freeing myself from his embrace, I asked, "What if I say I don’t want to work for you?" He laughed and muttered, "Then you don’t. I remember how often you asked me to release you from your contract. I thought I should honor your wishes. C’mon. Let eat."

Ethan wasn't worried, either, and he always started off weeks with a laser focus which generally waned by Thursday or so, although he picked it up late in the day on Friday with the weekend coming on. That was, of course, assuming he didn't have to work a weekend or go out of town to meet a client; lately, they'd clamped down on overtime or on anyone aside from upper management flying out of town on company dime. In general, if you had to leave your desk to meet a client, it was either a really big deal, or they were close enough in town to be managed face to face.

The possession also allowed the Host to harness and use the limited technology of the Gods. Although not as powerful as an incarnated Angel in his prime, his dying avatar wouldn’t stand a chance in battle against the Nekrums’ Host.

I trotted past some occupied tables, and saw a good spot to sit next to a window. There were a total of eight windows in the dining room, and a table was placed in front of each window. I recognized the man sitting in front of me because I worked with him in my Medical Careers class this year. Johnny Smith and his girlfriend strolled in and sat down a few tables to my right. The old athletic director from Mora was with his wife across the restaurant. Sitting at a circular table that was directly in the middle of the restaurant were six older people, three men and three women. The men were sitting together on the left side of the table, and the women were together on the right. I could hear them talking about politics. One of the women

After four hours of complicated algebraic equations, and unquantifiable amount of differential equations, the clock struck midnight. It was late at night and I was winding down from a long day of school work. My body sagged with fatigue, arms unable to rise above my waist, and my head drooped in eagerness to meet my bed. Of course I was eager in turn to meet my head’s throbbing expectations, leaping into bed to a night long and full of eventful dreams. Then I heard those fatal words, courtesy of my darling mother ,” Did you have good day? Did you get everything done that you needed to?”

I look bloody in my reflection. Once I would’ve flinched away, and tried not to look at my face. Now though, I stare closely. The water ripples, and I see a flash of gold.

Rachael woke up at 7.30am, it was the first day at her new school in Manchester and she was less that thrilled about this. Yawning slightly she dragged herself up from her warm bed to get into the shower. It’s fucking freezing she thought to herself as she stepped onto her soft, white fur rug by her bedside. Reluctantly she started to head down her hallway to the bathroom, silently cursing at having to be up this time in the morning. In the bathroom eventually she then reached up to switch on the shower. Pulling off her pyjamas she quickly jumped under the water forgetting the shower was a fucking cunt. “Ahh!” She screamed out as the water scalded her skin turning her porcelain white arms into a burning red

Suddenly Bergess screamed in excruciating pain and as Kohen turned to look he found himself screaming as well strapped to his chair. The pain, while only lasting seconds, was worse than anything ever experienced. It was totally unforeseen but would never be forgotten. The instant the pain subsided Kohen unbuckled himself and rushed to Bergess’ side to see if she was all right. She had tears running down her face, as did he, but it seemed there was no lasting effects. As he reached her, he looked her straight in the eyes and said,