Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, sensing the minutes tick by for what seemed like the hundredth night in a row; Cassie knew the feeling well. . Every few minutes or so her eyes would flick over to the glowing red numbers as they grew closer and closer to the time her alarm would go off, signalling a new day. The demonic red numbers switched to three in the morning, and the time for sleep fell to four hours. Cassie forced an inhale, and then breathed out slowly. It had been hours now, since she had persuaded herself to lie down in bed, yet her mind was still reeling from the day previous. It wasn’t as if anything spectacular had happened, those sorts of events seemed to save themselves until Cassie was already near a breaking point. Today …show more content…
She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten more than one or two hours of sleep, which was affecting her ability to coherently perform necessary tasks, which definitely impacted all the work she did horribly and that meant that she had probably failed most assignments and so really, it was pointless to keep trying and so the to-do list grew higher and higher until it was wavering over Cassie, threatening to collapse and bring down the precariously put together life she had tricked everyone into thinking she had…
…This of course would then reveal her as the insane person she was sure she was now becoming and ward off any of the people who had somehow managed to stay in her life up until now, but since she couldn’t even answer a couple of damn texts, all her relationships would die out. Suddenly she would be alone and probably end up homeless because no one wanted anything to do with her and the doctors had given up and her mother’s pitying stare would pierce her like a thousand
…show more content…
Leaning her clammy forehead against the cool porcelain, Cassie braced herself for what was about to come after the commotion she had made.
“Cassie, are you awake? Are you all right in there? I could hear the door slam from down the hall. Do you need me to come in?” came the voice of her mother.
Swallowing back her panic for a moment, Cassie smiled to herself and forced a laugh. She almost believed it herself. For a moment, she indulged in the idea of actually answering her mother’s questions; how different her life would be if she could just let someone in. It was only fleeting.
“Ma, I’m fine. Must’ve been still half asleep, go back to
The window was cold to the touch. The glass shimmered as the specks of sunlight danced, and Blake stood, peering out. As God put his head to the window, at once, he felt light shining through his soul. Six years old. Age ceased to define him and time ceased to exist. Silence seeped into every crevice of the room, and slowly, as the awe of the vision engulfed him, he felt the gates slowly open. His thoughts grew fluid, unrestrained, and almost chaotic. An untouched imagination had been liberated, and soon, the world around him transformed into one of magnificence and wonder. His childish naivety cloaked the flaws and turbulence of London, and the imagination became, to Blake, the body of God. The darkness lingering in the corners of London slowly became light. Years passed by, slowly fading into wisps of the past, and the blanket of innocence deteriorated as reality blurred the clarity of childhood.
That was too much for Cassie though, and she wouldn’t get in the street. Then Mr. Simmes, the father of Lillian Jean, pushed Cassie into the street for not listening to Lillian. Then Big Ma came out of the law firm and Cassie got up and ran to Big Ma. Then they made Cassie apologize and then they got in their wagon and went home. Cassie realized that everyone isn’t always treated the same.
Cassie doesn't realizes there more unsolved homicides. They started a natural program to help other people out.there was a killer there and they striked. They done a legal game with the killer. The game is cat and the mouse.
Most days she was able to start sensing things around her as well as hear. It could be quite dull now. The only ones that visit her anymore are her parents and her fiancé. Or...he used to...she couldn't tell if their relationship had changed. It was hard to tell these things when you cannot speak, touch, or even blink
She let out a groan, “What?” There was no reply. So she trudged upstairs and found her parents standing by the back door with their bags packed. “What’s this?” Larisa asked with aggression.
It was six in the morning on a summer Sunday and Percival woke. No matter how much he wanted to sleep in, it never happened. Like clockwork, his eyes opened at the same time every morning, rain or shine, summer or winter, regardless of what time he’d gone to bed the previous night. He had grown used to it, and tried his best to get to bed early.
You heard your ringtone suddenly go off, disturbing the quiet of your bedroom. You felt really lousy that morning so called in sick at your job and you didn’t get out bed all day. Except to go to the bathroom to throw up. You didn’t know what time it was but you didn’t move to answer your phone. It was all the way on the other side of the room and you really didn’t feel like moving when you didn’t have to. Just as the ringing stopped and you tried to go back to sleep, you had the throw up. In your haste to run to the bathroom you didn’t register the fact that your phone went off again.
There is a highway but unlike others. Its not often used . But under the stars and the darkness of the sky the full moon shines brightly , illuminating the land. The land that the highway was painfully carved into. Upon that high way that was curved and twisted in odd way, there was a girl in the back of the truck bed.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
The blazing sun directed over Mogadishu while the women and the children of somalia tired, hot and hungry continue their work washing, cleaning and cooking. The city is the embodiment of boredom the dark smoky skies, the dull dead grass and the brown coloured huts that seemed to go on for miles. The people walking roughly in one direction, the sound of their feet crunching the gravel fills the silence of the morning. Everyone dressed in traditional clothes men wearing flowy maawis, western shirts and shawls while women wearing long flowing dresses worn over petticoats called direh and usually wear large scarves. The dread is an invisible demon sitting heavily on their shoulders and consuming their thoughts with negativity as they walk to work.
I pull into her driveway, hands gripped firmly on the rubber steering wheel of the van. Dirt crunches beneath the wheels, a satisfying sound. Autumn has long since settled upon us and the trees sprung from the freshly cut grass resemble paint splattered against a dark canvas. Now outside of the vehicle, I inhale, closing my eyes, and smile. Fresh air washes over me.
I woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. A low, raspy voice drifted through my window like a calm, quiet wind. It was the voice I had been listening for ever since the last full moon. He was singing his song. The song.
I want to die, and it was the worse feeling in the world. Open mouth. Lungs. Air in, air out. Nothing was happening.
“Yes, mum,” Ellie answered, though she did not know, why her mother was so upset. Ever since her father didn’t come back from the hospital, her mother was ridiculously scared of everything, connected to cars. Ellie didn’t like to think of her father. Everytime she thought of him, she remembered the day, when everyone she knew came to the church, dressed in black, and cried like mad. And that was a very sad memory. But the good thing about being five years old was the fact that things like that are easily forgotten, especially if your mother doesn’t like to talk about them either.