At long last, Jacobus moved to the desert.
It was a move planned for many months after a single visit to a small desert town convinced him it was time to move. There, on a dark summer night he discovered what he had heard of, but never seen: a night sky filled with stars and constellations and galaxies spinning far above that had been invisible to him in the city.
He was mesmerized by the pale wisps of stars that blew silently across the sky, glowing dimly in the persistent summer heat. He heard coyotes howl surprisingly nearby as they saluted the night sky and each other. He felt the desert breeze upon his cheek as it scurried by the nearby silhouettes of saguaros looming in the nearby darkness. Thousands of flowers of the night, peeking
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“They’re not coming. I’ve been a fool.” The demon nodded in agreement and smiled a self-satisfied, red smile before it retreated back into the darkness, never to return.
He had lost. The Visitor was still alive. He would have to move, to leave the corner, or even the town itself or die himself. The Visitor was still alive.
Then, something was different.
On the street, where all had been quiet for more than an hour, where any vehicle that did pass did so in a hurry on its way up the hill, a vehicle passed at very low speed.
It oozed past his bedroom, its lights briefly igniting the curtains into a brilliant white glow they passed. The throb of the car’s powerful engine was felt as much as hear as it crept by maybe five miles per hour. He thought he even heard the sound of hushed voices seeping into the night air out of a half-cracked window. The vehicle passed and darkness returned, save for the ever present yellow glow of the damnable streetlight.
Philip lay in bed, riveted. Was this it? he wondered. Now? After all hope had gone?
He dare not get out of bed, but listened.
The car stopped, not quite at the corner, he thought, though its engine continued to thrum as it idled, waiting for a new command from its
There was a pause after which she heard six or seven more pops. She looked out the window and saw a small car driving south on Shadow Wood Circle. She said that she has no enemies and knows of no one who wishes ill will to her or anyone else on the street.
Gary told William. Gary entered the asylum and was greeted with silence. The asylum was not torn apart or damaged at all, it was just abandoned. The power was turned on, there were no holes or broken walls, it seemed like a livable space. He came in through the entrance room, and started inspecting the building.
Young Thomas Edwards was given orders by his strict mother to run to the farmers market and pick up some eggs from their dear friend Charles. On his way down there he notices people complaining all around him. He chose to ignore it; he thought nothing of it. He continued on his way minding his own business.
The dank room was dimly lit with the flickering lights of the street which could be seen beyond the cracked window. The man whistled his favorite tune. He rested his chin on his rough hand. Memories of his lonely childhood replayed in the back of his mind.
The summer rainstorms, over the past four days, have transformed the roadways, of Wrongberight a rural hamlet on the eastern shores of Virginia, into a never-ending slip and slide. It was late Saturday afternoon, when vivacious Clemmy Sue Jarvis, a petite woman of sixty three, cautiously pulled out of her driveway, and slowly turned south on to Flat Bottom Road. She maneuvered the rain soaked road with great care. Nevertheless, fifty yards from her dearest friend Estelle Louise’s long dirt driveway, her rusty Chevy pickup, kept mobile with hairpins, bubble gum, and duct tape, skidded across a massive oil slick. As a result, the pickup spins in loose circles as it continued down the middle of the narrow country road, before it finally
The issue that I’ve chosen was about Jacob Riis and his pictures of the slums in New York City. Immigrants suffered in extreme poverty before becoming journalists and documenting their conditions they are living in. In the 19th century, more and more people began to crowd into America’s cities. Including immigrants looking for a better life. In New York City buildings that’d been single-family dwellings were divided into multiple living spaces to fit the growing population.
Early June sun shone bright as I set off into town. I drove down the winding road. My mind drifted into oblivion. I knew this road's every twist and turn when CRUNCH. I stepped outside to assess the damage.
One day me and my friends Tavorus,Cree,Dream,and Romello robbed a jewelry store. Now Tavorus has been in a juvenile home most of his life and just got out 3 months ago. Cree just moved up here from California. His mom sent him here because she couldn’t keep him from out of trouble,so she was hoping his dad could. Now Dream has been in prison for the past 3 years for Attempted Murder,but he beat the case.
Greasy “Greasy Lake” is a short story written by T. Coraghessan Boyle. It is a dark, plot driven, first person point-of-view recounting of a group of young men and their life changing adventure one night. They go looking for trouble and end up “biting off more than they can chew.” The drastic chain of events that follow leads to the forced maturation of the narrators’ character.
I awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing off the wall. It rang three times, then stopped immediately. My mother must’ve picked it up. A few moments later, she barged into my room, phone in hand, and said “Bryn, it’s for you.”
Perceived susceptibility: Jacoby thinks that because he has sex with strangers that are “clean cut professionals” and are “generally healthy”, he will not contract an STD. Due to the fact that he often has sex two nights per week and with both genders, makes him more vulnerable than others. Again, he brings up the point that condoms are both awkward and ruins the mood of sex, just gives him another excuse to not use them. He assumes that he will not contract any STD or HIV because he has not gotten anything yet. Perceived benefits: He definitely believes his sister when she recommends him to use a condom as well as going further and putting them into his wallet, but he just cannot get himself to use them.
“I wanna play with some mortals. Female mortals.” Eryx, son of Aphrodite, looked up from the neat stack of papers on his Chippendale desk. He frowned at the intruder, his cousin Dionysus. “Don’t you ever knock?”
“I’m going to kill thee!” screamed Dionysus Now let's go back a bit and start from the beginning, why Dionysus is mad at Apollo. This isn’t the beginning. It started when Apollo took Dionysus’s fiancé. That’s a wrong move. Apollo walked up to Athena’s house and started playing the banjo.
A vagrant sat in the middle of the car, spoon in one hand with a lighter below it. The car reeked of burnt plastic and permanent marker. John sighed, went around him and went to the next car. In that one, for all intense purposes, normal commuters traveling alone or as a couple tensed up. Their eyes, wild and widening, and they stiffened the moment he entered the car.
The desert seems vast, even endless at times, a small winged creature flew over it, not a bird, no, but something else. It saw hills towering to the size of mountains, waves arcing over each other, all of this, made of the same substance. White sand, plain and out stretching to impossible distances and spaces. Sand so drained and lacking of color that it reflects the sun like a blank sheet of paper held outside by a student at mid day.