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A NEW PAGE by P. Ringon
It’s been two weeks, and I haven’t made any real friends. It’s just that, I feel as if no one likes me. Sure, I’ve talked to a few people, like Jessica and this really hot guy Chase, but I’m starting to feel lonely again. I mean, I was captain of the cheerleading squad at my old school, and was one of the popular girls. Diary, I just don’t get it. Well, whatever, I’m way too tired to keep on writing so, let’s just hope tomorrow will be at least a little different from the norm, that I’m slowly getting used to. Until next time.
Carissa woke up the next morning and carelessly stumbled out of bed. She looked in the mirror and thought no wonder no one’s really talked to me, I look like crap. Despite her morning thoughts, she and everyone else knew how gorgeous she actually was. With her hair done, face fresh, clean, made-up, and new clothes to show off, she headed out the door and jumped into her car. She sped down to the nearest Starbucks, just like she did every morning. She finally got to school, still getting used to how different things looked compared to her old one. Carissa was still not used to her dad’s line of work, even though it was the fourth time his company had transferred him.
Following the same routine she had been going through for the past two weeks, Carissa sat in the courtyard and read one of her favorite novels, The Joy Luck Club, and sipped on her brand-name cappuccino with extra whipped cream, hoping that someone would take interest in her and maybe even spark a new friendship. Carissa was reading …water had turned a deep golden color, and then red, purple, when she was suddenly startled by someone who knocked over her cappuccino.
Without even looking to see who did it she blabbed out, “Look! You need to watch where you’re going, Loser.” Carissa looked up and suddenly felt her heart sink and her face turn as red as an apple. It was Chase, and before she could even begin to apologize, he jumped in saying, “Oh, damn. Hey, umm, it’s Carissa, right? I’m so sorry, I was totally zoned out. Here, I have a Starbucks ‘ccino, too, and I didn’t even do so much as breathe on it yet.
Hallelujah woke up from her soft cozy bed. Same time for school everyday, even on the weekends. It was a part of her routine and she was so used to it. Sleeping in on Saturdays and Sundays were very difficult. When she got up, she shivered the cold in her room hit her like a slap after doing something wrong. She looked at the brown sack that held a secret she was dying to find out but Hallelujah had to head over to Lake Michigan. She headed over to her bathroom across the hall and used the pail of water to wash her face and scrub her teeth. She used the towel hanging on the rack to pat her face, dripping with water. Hallelujah put on her Saturday outfit, a typical long sleeve shirt with a gray, long fluffy jacket and put on some pantalettes. She headed downstairs with the sack in her hand and a tissue in another. As she headed downstairs, smelled a large whiff of Miss Tilly’s scrambled eggs topped with cheddar cheese, toasted bread, shreds of bacon, a sausage link and a cup of coffee. There was a side of strawberries too.
From the very beginning, Anna's first impression on Caro was a positive one. Caro had been through so much in the past several months that she appreciated every little thing Anna did for her such as dusting and cleaning her room, changing her sheets and bringing her a linen cloth with her meal. Unlike Harriet and Rose, Anna went out of her way to get to know Caro on a...
It was a dark, rainy night. Anna was driving alone on the wet streets of Portland, Oregon to her parents’ house. Her windshield wipers were waving like crazy, and her headlights were not shining bright. When then she knew that all safety was lost, in this closed off forest, in my small car. The radio was screaming fun jazz music to lighten the mood. Though Anna was tired and weak wishing for the drive to be over. Little did she know her life was about to change, for the better and worse.
In The Cask of Amontillado, Poe describes the picture on the crest as a golden foot crushing a serpent, which has its fangs imbedded in the heel of the foot. Poe also mentions the motto “Nemo me impune lacessit (no one provokes me with impunity)” told by Montresor to Fortunato, which signifies the analysis of this profound picture on the crest. According to the plot of the story, the foot represents not only Montresor but also his status-consciousness and cruelty towards Fortunato. As image of the picture demonstrates, not only will the Montresors punish anyone whom they feel harms or insults them, but they will also administer that punishment with a sense of authority. The serpent, however, depicts Fortunato and his actions that insult Montresor. Poe specifically used serpent here to emphasize upon Fortunato’s role play because it signifies death and destruction with a combination of strength which in this story foreshadows Fortunato’s death due to the strong impact of insult on Montresor’s life. Serpent is also the symbol wisdom and blind passion. The serpent biting the heel embod...
The brunette drank wine straight from the bottle as Netflix played in the background and she scrolled through her phone, going through her contacts in hopes of finding someone to talk to. It was a Friday, her first one back, and to spend it alone at home would be doing herself a disservice. Not here, had a baby, moved, started doing drugs - there was one reason or another why she passed by each person, but when a familiar name came up she had to
A few kids were scattering around the hallway, cheering for the weekend. Few other kids entered Melody’s classroom, to talk to their friends,” Hey! You kids go back to your classroom!” Garrett scolded. Melody laughed,” Calm down, Garrett. You know how desperately kids want to escape from their ‘prison’. At least they’re not burning down the building,” She said. Garret crossed his arms,” Don’t call this school a ‘prison’! Golden Rich is one of the best private schools!” He scoffed, turning his head. The chubby girl just shrugged,” YOO, MELOOODYYY!!” A voice called, breaking Melody’s peace and quiet. As Melody turned around, she saw her junior friend, Samantha Bocks, who was a delinquent who would skip her classes, and litter, and anything else that would infuriate the Hall Monitor. Though, she was a troublemaker, she secretly cares about her friends,” H-Hey, Samantha,” Melody waved, nervously. Every time, Samantha was around, Melody always felt anxious and cautious. Samantha sat on top of the desk, with her backpack beside her,” Just came here to say hi! What you doing over the weekend? Going to the fair or something?” She asked,
A short story is a fictional piece of writing that can range from 1,000 to 20,000 words. Unlike a novel, he reader should be able to read a short story within a short amount of time. Because the length of a short story is shorter than a novel, it usually has one main character (minor characters can be added in limited amounts) and focuses on one plot, setting, and central theme.
'Compare/contrast Faulkner's 'Dry September' with 'A rose for Emily' in terms of writing style and character presentation.';
The short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” written by Charlotte Perkins Gilman focuses on a young woman’s psychological downfall and her fascination with the wallpaper within the house she and her husband are living in. The woman begins to believe that the wallpaper is coming alive, which leads her to become confused with reality and fantasy. Gilman selects the crazed woman as the narrator of the story. Furthermore, Gilman uses first person point of view to effectively convey the woman’s emotions and feelings during her mental decline.
It was about one-thirty in the morning in the town of Homestead Michigan. The almost florescent light of the moon bouncing off the fresh puddles that covered the ground. The grass and trees were covered in a thin layer of water causing every little beam of light to reflect back up. Anyone who may have been outside at this time would have without double, smelled the mix of fresh dirt and night crawlers. As the moonlight started to fade away through the cloud cover, three buses made there way through the streets and parked in front of HHS, the local high school.
“This is the last time,” the girl said as she took her index fingers and forced them down her throat, and watched as the remains of her dinner erupted out of her body. The girl got up and cringed as she saw the remains of her Caesar salad spun around the porcelain and silently slipped away.
There was a girl named Kandy, she was 15 years old. Her life was extremely boring, all she ever did was go to school, go on her computer, eat and sleep. She spent all summer on her computer. She was really good with HTML and spent her free time making web sites. Kandy didn't have many friends and rarely talked to guys because she was shy and unconfident about her looks. That's why she went into chat rooms. She made a web site with pictures of herself on it and told people in chat rooms to go there. A lot of people would tell her how pretty she was and some would say she was ugly. That made her feel awful. When anyone would say anything nice to her, she wouldn't believe them and think that they were just making fun of her. She only had one real friend that she could talk to, her name was Ang.
The pretty researcher walked up to the shack where he supposedly lived. Wendy had heard many stories about the scourge, but she had never seen him for herself. He was a local legend, and she had decided to do her thesis on this obese male. She knocked on the cheap wood door of the shanty, and the door fell off. Wendy anxiously tried to pick the door up, but before she could pick it up, a high-pitched bark came from the dark corridor of the hut. “It’s alright, girlie. Just leave it and come inside.” She complied quickly, stepping inside. The stench was almost unbearable, a mixture of rancid sweat, rotten food and flatulence. She tried to hold back a small moan, but failed utterly, as she stepped cautiously across the floor strewn with garbage. The scourge was reclined in a La-Z-Boy, his face cloaked in shadow. He spoke again, and the girlish voice was a shock.
Bonnie the secretary introduced me to my new teacher. As Mrs. Bonnie was leaving the room, my new teacher Mrs. Evaheart introduced me to the class. As I stared at the class I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. I wanted to go back to my old school where I had friends, knew almost everyone, a place where I didn’t feel lonesome, a place anywhere but here. As I saw each and every one of my new classmates faces the utter dread that I felt slowly began to fade as I saw a familiar face. Seeing one of my former friends give me a renewed hope that maybe being in this school won’t be so bad after
The degeneration of moral values in the Nigerian society in the last decades led to a multitude of scourges; one of which is drug smuggling. Drug mules’ numbers increased to reach an alarming level. In her short story “Last Trip” the Nigerian writer Sefi Atta tries to shed light and give some explanation to this phenomenon through the journey of a drug smuggler who is a single mother with her mentally disabled son from Lagos to London in what might be her last trip.