Witter: A Fictional Narrative

With a ear-piercing yell Ulrich says to his men “You men never followed orders, I was stuck under a beech tree while you guys had my whiskey!”

I nod to him and walk down the long walkway and toward the door and unsurprisingly it was locked. I check out the house and find and open window.

“I am Nathan Andrews. I have come to explore and study this magnificent castle.” Before he can ask her to introduce herself, she’s attacking him. With expert instincts, his hand pull the sword from its sheath with ease in time to block a blow. “Woah! Wait! What did I do wrong?”

Mac left before the Sheriff or anyone else got to the center as he wanted to see how passable the trail was and if he could take the any vehicles up the hill. It was the smallest vehicle they had and it might make it. In several places, the trail wasn’t wide enough to take the quad so he gave up the quad and walked up. The distance to the site Jackie described wasn’t far.

WILLIAM stood at the crest of a valley and stared down over his orchard. The trees stretched out in both directions in long, perfectly straight rows. The sun cut a path through thin, wispy tendrils of fog, and shimmered off morning dew that clung to the leaves and grass; the entire orchard glimmered. The apple trees reminded William of his former students at Beacon Academy, attentively arrayed before him, hanging on his every word. A crisp, late-October breeze swept across the valley, offering a subtle hint at the approaching winter chill. The trees were bursting with red and green apples, the branches bowing under the weight of the bounty. Men and women moved methodically between the rows, using three point ladders to reach the upper branches.

I get the boys attention and point to the window. “Hang back. I’m going to see if I can get her out there. You see anything, cover me.”

Immediately, he slams the door as I blubber. He stands in front of me and looks down at me, resting his hands on my shoulders and peering into my damp eyes.

I love musicals, and I had only ever seen Limestone and Cornstalk perform their plays, which is completely different from seeing a musical done by people who act for a living.

Mark walked into Daxter’s room and began to talk with him over his financial issues. “I need the money by friday”. Daxter said. “She doesn't have it yet,” Mark responded. “Dude, shes had months to get me the money, I can’t stall any longer”, Daxter said. “Well, why don’t you go and down their and talk to her?” Mark said agitated. “Your girlfriend” Daxter added with attitude. Daxters shorter stature made him less intimidating than most, but he grew more fond of the verbal intelligence he possessed. Mark trotted down the steps to converse with his girlfriend, while Daxter returned to his video game. Moments later Daxter herd the deafening sound of a gunshot. Daxter rushed out of his room and flew down the stairs to the sight of the incident.

In the three short stories, “Through the Tunnel,” “The Bet,” and “The Story of an Hour,” the life lesson that is being taught is that the main characters in each story are being reborn, and a new lifestyle is being brought to them. When you become reborn you see life in a different perspective, usually when this happens you overcome a major obstacle in your life, or something dramatic happens.

I am forced out of bed before the sun gets the chance by the high-pitched screaming of my alarm. Working against the clock, my brain fights the last-minute task of arranging all my clothes into a suitcase. The taxi ride to the airport is all but a tired blur. With a long hug and a bittersweet speech from my parents, I am off on my own to break new boundaries. The airport and I are no strangers.

He looks at Corus. “I know. I made Corus tell me when I woke up and you were gone. I followed you. Sorry, I didn’t want to tell you, you know, that I saw my birthday present. Almost jumped on that man who fixed your sword, but you didn’t seem too uncomfortable, so I waited,” he says. “If it hadn’t been for the soldiers I would have been there, especially when you just handed your sword over to him.”

“We are from the village of Lorwald. You slayed €l-βḝlgrὃnd and freed us; rest and sleep.”

"All right, time to head out, Percival. We're off to the Valley of the Fallen Kings. It's to the south and west of the Forest of Brechfa. Are you familiar with it?"

“Thank you,” Estin mumbles as he grabs a needle in his shaking hand and tightly grabs my wrist with the other. He sticks the needle in my arm, pushing something into my system. He doesn’t take my blood, like I think he would. He put something in me and I’m okay with it until it hits me.