Cold. Cold like snow without gloves. Cold that makes your eyes feel as if they are being digested. Cold. My steps echoed upon the old crackling wood floor. The pace of the echoing sounds quickened. My hands pushed in the door which gave a tired moan. Doosh, Doosh, Doosh - i landed upon the frictionless concrete. The vastness of the world lay before me. Then, like the geese of the north the door fled into oblivion. With haste i hopped inside the van, the roar of a million horrors sound out into the streets. I was carried away… “The leaves are falling.”- i told my mother. She gave me a quick grin and faced the streets once more. The ride was quiet, tension choked the air. We passed a place where caged things scratch walls. Then yielded. I exited the van, my feet touching the ground - i felt as if i had touched the surface of Mars. Together we walked. Walked into a small corridor soon revealing itself as a larger rectangular room lit by florescent beams. There were tons of people, all seated of course. I gingerly pressed a finger smudged button which extruded the accountant's desk. And out came a tiny paper with a number printed on it with faded ink. …show more content…
The forms we had brought were incorrect. We bolted, the wind sifted through her hair as dust through fingers until we reached the Van. The tires screeched exhaling smoke like dragons. Guided by light we docked back home. We scurried and scurried like rats through pipelines. Back in the car we held what was missing - speeding back we corrected our
Hundreds of faceless people; you've seen them all before. Murmurs of broken languages no one cares to use anymore. You are carried along the worn-down flagstones until a towering office building comes into view. You push your way out of the human river and onto the deserted curb. A broken window at the rear of the skyscraper becomes your makeshift entrance. A looted atrium greets you. You welcome the break from the automatons. This has been your haven since you swam into the Atlantic, searching for your cure, and got revived in Plymouth, Britain by accident. Hundreds of deep gouges in the wall represent your resentment. Puddles of blood from various attempts, some you don’t even remember. A few nooses, some knives, one degraded nine-millimetre. Everything is corroded; the alloys in steel gave out years ago. Rust rules this once-polished world. You withdraw your diary once more and, flicking to a page further into the book, read another entry. 31st December 2167 I gave in and sent my application today. Maybe they will process me quickly. No one has been deleted in the last few months; I wonder what the clog up is? A new church has opened down the road, “The
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
To begin, the story opens with a family receiving a visit by a stranger on a November evening. Since the author uses words like “chill, damp, deepening dusk” (Oates 325) to describe the condition of the
The snow curled in my hair and rushed against my rose red cheeks. My heart pounded and my stomach glitched up and down like a pixel. The lift dodged by a big old yellow sign reading: “The Sweet Express.” The words willowed in my mind over and over again. As if it was digging into my brain and placing itself in the category labeled fear.
March 1, 2001 5:39 p.m. - Nerves, nerves, nerves…how can one letter enclosed inside of an envelope determine so much? Michael Livingston had plenty to lose. Try four years of undergraduate school at Morehouse University, two years of Notre Dame graduate school, and Harvard Law. Yes he had plenty to lose. Walking into the door of his closed-space apartment, he sits down with the letter in plain view. Thump, Thump, Thump! His heart races like greyhounds at a race track. The time is here. The time is now. Michael opens the letter to find his results of the BAR exam he had taken…
As we pulled out of my parents driveway, the circumstances seemed very surreal. My entire way of life had been turned upside down with only a few hours consideration. I was very much “at sea” in the ...
The plane began to move. We were taking off. With each minute, and each thought, I became more and more anxious. I looked out the window. The ground moved faster and faster, soon the gravel began to look like blurry streaks and suddenly the plane lifted. My mind cleared and I just watched... I looked down upon the tiny little towns, my nose pressed up against the cold, plastic window, and my imagination took over... I began to dream of living in foreign lands. A huge mansion on a vineyard property perhaps. The sunshine pouring through my window every morning. I then pictured myself getting up, putting on a silk robe and walking downstairs. The scent of grape blossoms ...
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 most popular girls.
Once upon a time there was a kid named Alfred. Alfred was in the 3rd grade and he loved playing on the schools playground at lunch. Alfred was kind of an awkward fella and he had no friends. The kids made fun of him every single day.
As I got comfortable, there was a sound of an engine working harder, and the sound of gravel getting crunched under 5,000 pounds of metal, and wheels. I felt a bump then everything smooths out. I looked out the shiny widow, and as I do, I see yellow strips fly by. I smell of overcrowding, and hear my brothers and sisters arguing. I look out through the icy window, and see a blanket of darkness slowly fade away into the morning, then my hot breath clouds the window into a white fog. As I wrap my hands around the cold water bottle, and twist the cap I feel it breaking off, and hear the cap rip off. I tasted a taste of sweet water, there was a feeling of the dryness in my mouth melts away.
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.
The chilling wind pierced through my skin like a thousand sharp knives as I walked to the bus stop that morning. I never did remember it being so far; I was walking through a never ending desert of bitter pain; the white, cold snow of the ground reminded of endless sheets of linen that covered every inch of the land beneath me. It was strange yet almost comforting. I opened my eyes differently when I awoke that morning, something felt different; felling different in this case is rare. This town, this very street; I never realized how everything had always been the same in this town.
Snow was falling from a dark grey sky at an alarming pace, on the night Camilla awoke from a nightmare. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat; her heart was racing and Camilla’s dark brown fringe suck to her forehead. The sound of screeching tyres and Camilla’s own screams still rang in her ears and she believed she could smell burning rubber.
Charlie woke up on one morning from a rough sleep, feeling like he did last night, not knowing where he fitted in the world. Everything was changing around him, the technology was getting more advanced, the music had more meaning and fashion started to kick in. It was a dark and cloudy Monday morning in Sydney and Charlie was getting ready for school, when he sat down on the edge of his single bed with his covers untucked and half on the bed and half on the fall, Charlie started putting on his school socks. He was still pondering the question that kept him up last night “where do I fit in this world?”. Charlie thought to himself “is anyone asking them-self the same Question, should I know where I fit in?. After pondering this for ten minutes, Charlie had to leave for school. While in the can on his long trip to school, his mother was listing to the radio, she turned the music up. Charlie sat listing to the song with him head on the window of the car and looking out at the house’s, kids walking and talking to their friends and other cars passing them, when he started thinking about the lyrics to this one song, once again he thought to himself “do I fit in ?, should I be a part of this generation ?”. He knew when the song stopped that he had to start finding where he fitting in the generation of the 60’s