Another day was so much like the one before, and the many before that. He walked the house and grounds, slowly, letting time pass as it must. Alone, present but not present, for can one truly be there if no one knows of it? Like the saying he’d heard more than once over the unmeasured time of his existence: If a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? He ambled through the back yard, pausing under the tree from which he’d been hanged, cursing his tormentors, vowing to haunt them for all time. But it was he who was cursed, trapped here for eternity.
At least the old woman had been entertaining, after a fashion. Family visited over the years, a husband came and lived and died. In the final years, she had even talked to him, well, at him at least. Just as she talked to many people who weren’t really there in her growing senility. Did she really sense his presence, he wondered. She’d spoken to him by name sometimes, but also calling him Rasmus or Rupert or Reginald, not Rufus. Just a crazy old woman, finally failing and passing peacefully in her sleep. He’d seen her spirit rise and fade into the next plane, a journey he was denied by his curse.
There had been others who seemed to detect him over the decades. The time the mistress of the house brought in a ‘spiritualist’ for
…show more content…
The old woman had been gone for weeks, but passing through the front walls, he saw a vehicle driving down the worn dirt road toward the house. The grounds had been visited twice since the old woman’s death, officials of one sort or another, looking the grounds over, inspecting pipes and furnace ducts. But this ‘car’ towed a trailer behind it, packed with boxes and odd pieces of furniture. The driver of the car was a lone young woman, and as he observed her features and form, he felt something he had not felt for decades: the desire for her companionship, her
It’s spring now and the winter was terrible let me tell you. There were 10 people dying every day from starvation or freezing to death or disease it was terrible. When we were marching there from the last battle we heard that there was going to be food there for 8 months turns out there was only food for 8 days. General Edwin and a bunch of other soldiers and commanders asked if they could leave and George had to let them go he just asked them if they would come back in the Spring ready to go. Hundreds of soldiers deserted valley Forge and went back home to their families.
"Are you reading this? If you are, then you have woken. You have been in a coma for 23 years. Everything you've ever seen, felt, heard or tasted was a hallucination. Your friends weren't real.
Silk coats with brass buttons gleamed in the summer sun. Gaudy colors flashed in the volunteer firemen's parade The bright red and yellow felt pressed hats like poppies and daisies in a field, each painted with elaborate insignias and company emblems. I had not seen such a pageant since the war began, when fresh faced young boys marched out to defend the Union. Some returned men, hardened and roughed by conflict, if they returned at all. Oswald, my husband, stood at my side and complained loudly about the volunteer firefighters.
Drew was having a normal day, tracking down bandits, wearing his big duster coat and cowboy hat. He saw one and fired! He missed the bandit and Drew began to chase him. He heard a man yelling behind him. This is how it all started.
the allies brilliantly invade the French shore line, this victory will cause Germany to surrender in the near future. As the allies captured Germany a small platoon stumbled upon a small laboratory. The lights flickered as the soldiers moved. A lieutenant move towards a device that appeared to be active. As he observed it he noticed the machine still humming.
That was during the hour that I was the most confused and mixed the real deaths of the soldiers with that of an imaginary private. He died in a story about WWI. Thirty-six years have passed since I stood in that darkness, which was mitigated by an outside light. Tonight, I remember the silence I shared with the dead. I rise and face my life for no other reason than I was young once like those I stood guard over, and for them who died for God knows what, I wish to give back the year 1971 along with the clouds, the rain, and the dampness, soaking my boots.
The Counsel’s Elders poured into the feeble balcony of the Great Hall; each straggled shuffle contributed to an apathetic rainstorm of footsteps, only to be muffled by a thunderous roar as they sat down. Lazy floodlights panned over the row of grey-hooded figures. Below the Elders, a young man knelt within a painted circle, tears streaming across his face. A guttural chant began to cut into the stale air like a sickle: “Born by the Sins of Gemini, we await the humble sacrifice . . .” * * * * *
Henry and I, walked swiftly to the middle of the camp. I read his mind and could hear that he didn’t want to be late, just in case they punished boys for being late. Henry and I, stood side by side and waited for other boys to show up. Within five minutes, the entire field was completely full. About one hundred men equipped with electronic guns and dressed in black equipment marched around rows of boys.
Gregor wakes up and looks at the clock. It is 6 a.m. “Time to get up,” he says. Gregor gets out of bed and walks to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and washes his face.
Sidharth Siddapureddy *INSERT CHEESY TITLE HERE* A surge of insignificance flowed through my body as I looked out upon the colossal rolling hills of the Smoky Mountains that looked like a vast, uncontrollable, green ocean in stretching infinitely all directions. It was illuminating to see how tiny I was compared to this vast, immeasurable planet. It was early morning as the sun peeked over the mountains in the distance spreading its warmth to our chilly bus. My back was hurting as I had slept on a concrete floor last night with only a thin sleeping bag sparing me from the cold rock floor, but that went unnoticed as I looked upon the never-ending sea of green going by my window.
In the Eyes of The Misfit A shirtless man wearing glasses is searched through an old pickup for an old time capsule that he had left long ago. He exited the car, and leaned on the hood of the old rusty old truck. The blood red sun was dying in the background behind him. Trees hover over him as giants. They protected him from the razor blade fragments of sunlight.
Life in NAME is easy. Tall, glass buildings reflect precariously placed trees, following winding paths leading people throughout their everyday lives. Everyone lives with contempt, food and money is supplied leaving only schools and mediocre hobbies like knitting, and gardening to do. “NAME.”
When reading “On Becoming Female”, I could visuals the younger girls talking about their friends around the tables. In some cases, I think this is the age group where you start to find yourself, learn what you like about yourself, and how to be who you want to be. When the popular girls start to pick out your flaws or your family members start to pick on you even in a loving way it can torment you. I had several nicknames in middle school like “little missy grace” from my family because I always dropped stuff, in soccer I was “giraffe” because I was so much taller than the other girls and I always tripped over my feet, and my friends called me “Gonzo” because I was still growing into my nose.
I don't remember how many days it's been since James and I survived the big storm; that claimed two of our very best friends, Mitch and Junior. I don't remember how long ago the boat ran out of gas or how long ago the GPS system shut down. I don’t remember when James and I have last spoken. It's not that I don't remember it's simply that I have already accepted the fact that James and I are going to die out here at sea. I have accepted the fact that I am never going to go home and see my wife again.
“The girl was running. Running for her life, in the hope of finding a safe haven for her and her family. She never looks back, the only indication her father was still behind her was his ragged breathing above her head, forming puffs of air in this cold morning. She suddenly stumbles on a root, but her mother secures her fall with a small wisp of air. They lock hands, all three of them, and continue pushing themselves, desperately trying to find the others they lost on the way.