Clue Narrative How am I going to live with myself? I'm Miss Scarlett and I have done something terrible. I'm currently sprinting away from Tudor Mansion. The sirens are getting louder. I have to hide! The day before... It was early morning when I got the mail. I brought the mail into the house, and I was rummaging through it when I noticed a piece with a return address to Tudor Mansion. I thought it was odd considering Mr. Boddy's and my past. I took the mail out of the envelope; it was an invitation. Mr. Boddy was hosting a party at the mansion tomorrow night. I planned on going to the party. I thought it would give Mr. Boddy and me a chance to catch up. The next day... I got up sort of early and made breakfast. The party …show more content…
Boddy pushed me against the desk, and I slammed my back on the desk drawer. I remembered Mr. Boddy keeps a gun in his drawer. I was lucky the drawer was unlocked and I flung it open. I got the gun out and pulled the trigger. I didn’t even look where I shot him. I sprinted down the hallway and out the fire escape to avoid contact with all the other guests. I've caught you up now. I'm between Fourth Street and Main Street in an alley way. I was crouched down between two dumpsters when I got cornered by four police cars. I tried to duck down, but they had me at gunpoint. I couldn’t see; the flashing lights from the police cars were blinding me. One officer was behind me while the other one was in front. The officer behind me was putting handcuffs on my wrists. They dug into my wrists. The policeman guided me to the car and lowered me into it. We were headed to the jail. When we got to the jail I got finger printed. They also took my picture for a mug shot. They gave me an orange jumpsuit and showed me my room. Now I lay on this uncomfortable mattress thinking. I really don’t regret killing Mr. Boddy. I was going to be here regardless. I figured I should go to sleep. After all I was going to have some time to think tomorrow. I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of my life, but at least I'll live with no
Every once in a while Buddy would call Kelle to see how she was doing. However, she was more concerned about him. He was fine where he was, nothing was wrong,, no one recognized him. Kelle hadn’t heard from him in a while. She was worried. Rayna came over and told her what happened. He got caught in a little restaurant in California. He was transferred to a prison on the border of Canada. He was never going to escape.
It was September 19 around 3 o’ clock and I was arriving to the Fontana Police Department on Upland Street. I was dressed in all black with my ironed dress shirt and pants, and my shiny polished black shoes following the dress code they had given me. It seemed like wearing all black was a bad choice because the weather outside was very hot. That day it was 96° Fahrenheit. When I got out of my car to go into the police station I realized that my whole back was full of sweat. It looked like I had just done the ice bucket challenge, but without the ice cold refreshing water. I walked into the main entrance of the
I wasn’t. He just put the handcuffs on me and then started beating me up.” I asked Inmate Dennis where his hands were when he was handcuffed; if they were in front of his body, or behind his back. He stated, “In the front.”
letter *A* embroidered on her chest. The A served as a symbol of her crime, was
I was wrapped in my blanket like a Butterfly in its cocoon. As soon as I began to have conscious thought of my crush, dancing, and my dreams turning into a reality my eyes opened as if I was facing Bruce Lee himself. Then I jumped out of my bed if I was running with gazelles in sub Saharan Africa. I smoothly landed into a crouched position on the ground I got straight into my dance battle stance with a stare determined like Eminem. I knew today would be a good day with the sun shining on me through my white curtains. As I noticed the dust from my desk float in front of me I copied its abrupt and jerky movements into the bathroom. I walked on my bathroom carpet like Tupac in a music video and fixing myself to look fresher than some new vans. My sister being her usual caveat smashed on the door shouting at me for taking a while.She is older than the hills. Rushing out and karate jump kick through my door wearing my towel I looked to the clock. “7:30” I said with a Arcane voice and took my plain white t shirt, fake faded lacoste jacket, and some khaki jeans. I looked in the mirror real quick licked my lips, made a quick rap, and did a quick bboy set. I began walking to school. I was hungry that time, I can eat a horse.
“You’ll never leave” is carved faintly into the brick wall of the small jail cell, probably from its last guest. Every day, I started to believe the phrase more and more. I lay on the uncomfortable cot, pretending to be asleep. I’m lonely, but I’m not alone. I can hear him breathing and slowly flipping the pages of the newspaper; I assume it’s Mr. Heck Tate.
When I first started leaning to read words I was very enthusiastic and I was so proud of my self, I was a reader now but was I reading or just lifting words from the white paper full of dreams and hopes. I still remember the days sitting with my mom on the dining room table reading together. Reading with my mom from early days I realise that language is very much like a living organism. It cannot be put together from parts like a machine, and it is constantly fluctuating and evolving. Language is a living organism that grows, it exists only in interaction with others, in a social interdependence. Different cultures
I just left the party for preppy rich kids, which to my dismay I was a part of, my father is an owner of a super successful oilrig. Thinking about what had happened, the douchebag who was my boyfriend hooking up with some girl from our college, shaking my head in disgust. I look up and notice that I’m in the rougher part of town, I stop a moment and think about the path I took to get here but I can’t remember, then I start to think about what ways I can get back to my house. While I’m racking my brain this shadow of a person appears out of Will’s Market, from this distance I can’t tell if they are looking at me. Then I come to the painful realization that one I’m standing under the only street light and two I’m wearing a nice bright pink shirt and bright white pants. After this thought runs through my head I whisper “f*****g h*ll whats my luck”. I decide that it’s no use trying to run or hide if they come they come.
Getting out of the car and looking around, I had all of ten seconds to take it all in. Going to the funeral was the least of my worries. What the hell kind of ghetto did I just step into? I questioned to myself as we walked down the sidewalk, passing the lady currently dying on the pavement. It was then that I decided that I definitely should not be here right now. Seriously, I looked way too cute in this outfit to be walking around the hood. Wait, I thought as she walked up to the gate of the funeral home, the current scene of this random lady’s death, did she really think that I was about to ask the paramedics to move so we could step over this dying lady to get into this funeral home? Okay, she was seriously insane.
The disapproving officer draws me out of the van, triggering a sharp pain up my arm where the handcuffs meet my skin. My skittish movements don’t seem to match the person which I have been described as for the past month. A killer? A liar? I am none of these. The stairs towards my destiny seem to last forever, again making me question society. Aren’t staircases supposed to symbolise going to heaven, not hell? I enter the courtroom, overflowing with faces that I
As I was driving down the road I saw red, and blue lights going off behind me, so I turn on my turn single and turned to the side of the street and parked my car. I saw the police officer getting out of his car and started to walks towards me, my hands were getting all sweaty and clammy, my stomach was in complete knots and I couldn’t figure out if I was going to vomit, or just pass out. I heard a knock on my window, and I rolled it down.
One limitation of my research is finding the door into Hawaiian Hula culture. Although Hawaiian people are more than happy to share their cultural knowledge of the dance, it was my experience from living on Kauai that Kumu’s could be rather guarded when it comes to a “howlie” (mainland person) researching their culture. It will be necessary to tread lightly within the culture of the Halau, (class/location where dance takes place). My intention is to make it known that I want to tell “their” story from their indigenous perspective. It is important to put forth the story of Hula, as Hawaiian people want it to be told.
Christopher threw his head back, letting the slow burn of the whiskey take its hold on him. Blinking he slammed the glass upside down on the counter and snapped his fingers. The blonde, a tall, five foot seven, laughed and padded her way to him. "Remember that promise I made you a few months ago, hmm?" She tsked her tongue, a glass bottle in one hand, pointing with the other. "Hmm...huh. You'll 'ave to remind me, love." His words a bit slow, almost caught between slurred and just mashed together, the blonde leaned on the counter, resting her weight on her elbows. A blonde curl tickled Christopher's arm as she poked his left bicep. "No mocking me accent, love." She winked, her thick, Welsh accent flowing with her words. He groaned and faked a frown. "But I totally nailed it!" She rewarded him with a loud, snort filled laugh and giggle sound. "We made a deal on the amount. You hit your amount--" she held her hand up, making a peace sign. "Two shots ago. Your cut off, baby boy." She patted his head, grinning. Christopher rose an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. According to the Medical Doctors in the Diabetes field, you should have no more then one to three, at a maximum, shots at a time in a 24 hour period.
A few hours later they transfer me to another jail for more fingerprints and mugshots. I finally end up at 4th Ave they had everybody that had gotten arrested sitting either against a long white wall with a bench or in the tanks, which they’d put about 15 people in while they wait. I’m waiting in the tanks for more fingerprints along with about 13 other females. A lady in there was in the middle of dying her hair a bright red so it smelled strongly of ammonia, another lady was homeless and caught stealing shampoo from a CVS, while another was sitting huddled in the corner, shaking immensely coming down from her drugs; while I sat there, my mind silent. The whole night consisted of moving tank to tank, fingerprints, mugshots. Around 5 am everyone sat in a room waiting to be called before the judge. Still sitting in silence, I waited while the girl next to me kept falling asleep on my shoulder. I tried to discretely move away but was stuck between her and some black guy. Thankfully I was up
Narrative Essay It all started my sophomore year of high school. People always tell you that when someone knocks you down, you should always get back up and keep trying. I had this mindset at the beginning of my sophomore year, but I ended up letting a teacher knock me down to the point where I did not get back up for a couple of years. I never expected my second year of high school to go so awry.