Flames came to life and waltzed with the shadows on the ebony walls. The dim light was enough to watch ashes, once ablaze, fall into a grey mush. I lifted the blunt to my lips to take another breath of ‘fresh air’, it was almost as if the smoke raced through my lungs pulling as much of the dark matter out of me as it could- for the time being. Voices creeped through the smoke, under the threshold, to my ear which brought mixed emotions.I could hear my brother Ethan laugh at a joke my best friend Mason made. “Where is blake?” Ethan’s laugh faded into seriousness. Mason didn’t think as much of my absence, “He’s in his room being a pussy.” “Blake get out, were having a good time together, there’s no reason for you to lock yours…” It was hard …show more content…
Usually that would be horrifying but anything was better than having to relive seeing me try to drag my mom from her car without her stabbing me with a knife. Things came back to perspective. I was on a lake slowly drifting toward a cabin. The lake was covered with a thick smog that danced like clouds in the darkness. I swept through the windows into the bedroom where a shotgun lay on the bed. Smoke drifted out of the barrel as if it had just been fired. I didn't want to keep moving across the room because I knew what awaited me, but I had no control over where my subconscious spirit lead me. So I drifted to the other side of the bed where the body of an older man lay bullet wound in his skull with blood and brain splatter everywhere. I know that the gun being on the bed makes no sense because a living person would have had to set it there, but I was never there in the real world while his body was still there so this is just how my mind has manifested this memory. There were five marble colored pieces of paper perfectly folded and stacked on eachother near the bed side- top one labeled Blake and it was opened. The note suddenly become audible to …show more content…
I was in my bed gasping for air- my last blunt still red at the ashes. Everything rocked as I moved but I got up anyway. I needed to find Ethan. Stumbling up the stairs, I somehow made my way to the back yard where the boys were having a fire. It was dark out just life it was at the cabin. I could see that everyone was asking me what I was doing as I walked passed them towards the pond, but all I heard was a ringing. I was angry- livid. My life's a mess and everyone I love leaves. I started grabbing rocks and throwing them, i'm not sure where but I was screaming as I did. I tried to wander back to the house but ethan grabbed me. At this point things were somewhat audible so I could vaguely hear him asking me what was wrong and what I took. He was soon interrupted by the neighbor screaming. I whipped around to find the barrel of a gun pressed to my forehead and an old white man in a fuzzy robe with the trigger in hand. “You broke my window son,” He somehow croaked without dropping the lit cigarette from the other corner of his
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
O’Connor himself wasn’t partially physically intimidating. This fact became abundantly clear once he stepped off his chair and approached me. While not necessarily short in stature, his seat gave him an extra few inches compared to his natural stance.
I was sitting in the old rickety chair that looked as if it had been there for five years. The smell of gunpowder hung in the morning air as I leaned over the rifle rest. My finger wrapped around the trigger as my eye focused through the scope of my grandfather’s Springfield ’03. I took a deep breath and let half out. My finger tightened on the trigger as I awaited the recoil and crack of the gunpowder igniting. Finally, when my finger’s pull was enough to move the trigger, the gun went off. Moments like this are why I love shooting guns.
The cold chill was blazing on me and my shoe gently began to pull out a tear. I thought about Candy and the other guys. Hopefully, I made the right choice. The sun came down and I ended up in a deserted river. Slowly, I began to regain where I was, and I opened my eyes in disbelief.
All he could see was red, pure anger seeping through every one of his actions. He kicked and kicked in a brutal rhythm, not thinking about anything other than the fact that he hadn't been there when it happened. What if Amaimon had found out, said something and then been hurt because the other him lashed out in anger. He would hate himself forever. What if Amaimon had been killed? What if he'd come home to that? He couldn't stand the thought. In the end he may have been hitting the other him for touching his brother, for being here and convincing him he was his mate. But really it was his anger at himself that drove most of his actions. He could understand the other trying to cover things up to try and avoid any time line mishaps, deep down
The first half of my book “The Cellar” written by Natasha Preston, was so good that I could not put the book down. The girl, at that point, had no memories which include her name and anything before she woke up on a dirty, bloody cabin floor. She looked down at her throbbing hand and found that two of her fingernails were missing.
I got dressed as fast as I could so I could make it to Strawberry with my papa. At this time of year in Mississippi weather was always chilly. So I made sure to put on my warm jacket. But in the 1930s no clothes was really warm, we couldn't afford the good jacket that I wanted but at least I wasn't like Cassie who wore ugly clothes. I suddenly thought of Jeremy and I had to make sure he was getting ready. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “JEREMY ARE YOU READY YET? WE HAVE TO GO TO STRAWBERRY TODAY!”
Although there were many other things to worry about as I transported my flock, my mind still drifted to the merchant's daughter. The dark night sky gave my memory time to fade into familiar sounds and colors that made my recollection of that day clear and vivid.
The Fire raged in the fearless dark, as the glowing eyes from the owls watched them as they slept. No sound besides the wind and the soft breathing from Montag and the rest of the group. The air was full of fog and smoke, to the point you couldn't see your hands. But the sun was rising and Montag awoke with fear running down his spine. “What am I supposed to do,” Montag jumped to his feet.
I was sitting with my friend, Pistol on one of the bucking shoots watching the barrel race.
Kendall Osborne stared, standing ramrod straight, from the sitting room window at the two old bats glowering at her house, the witch’s house. That is what they called it: the witch’s house. Even before the Unveiling the people of San Francisco had called her home that. The women watching the house talked with their heads together as if they were whispering, but not so subtle in theiry gesturing to the pale blue house on the hill. Both were dressed dull apron-style day dress with tight bonnet and the flag shaped Ladies of the Standard pin on the callor.
I figured they had just left me, so I though that’s what I’ll do too. At that point in time no one knew where I was. All I could think was random negative thoughts. I went to the Yodeler lift and waited my turn to get on. I’ve learned to be a solitary person from doing projects and things by myself, I never had friends that were in walking distance. All the way up the Yodeler lift I watched the shiny necklaces and other things thrown into the trees. Yodeler lift is most known for being the lift that people throw things on the trees at during Mardi Gras. That felt Like one of the longest rides of my skiing
But no one was there… He took aim, and fired his gun into the ground, until he heard a mute click, and the floor was littered with shells.
I rip out my pistol from my pocket and a woman in front of me. Bang! She drops to the floor. A second shot fired but not from my gun. I look down at my stomach and blood is seeping. A blood curtailing screams comes from the crowd and they
The room still smelled of his cologne. His black t-shirt and jeans still lay on the left side of the bed as he had left it; it was like he had never left. But he was gone, gone for now, gone forever. Scattered red puddles stained the brown floors; that was the only thing that reminded me that Cameron was never coming back; or so I thought. My mother was calling me down for dinner, but I had no appetite. Now my life had no purpose. I didn't want to go to school, especially because my family moved from New York a little shy of a year ago. I knew no one at my new school, and to make it worse I now had a few girls that disliked me. I was smoking down the hallway, when Natasha and her friends came towards me yelling, "No smoking allowed in this school!" I believe her uncle had died of lung cancer, so she was really sensitive dealing with that topic. I apologized, that just wasn't enough for her because she started pushing me and we started to get into a violent argument. I just wanted to be left alone, but that obviously wasn't happening. When I came home, my mother saw my black eye. She questioned me very worried, believing I had not made any new friends. I had to think of something on the spot, so I just lied and told her I had fallen on the concrete steps. She oddly believed me, and we walked downstairs to join my father for dinner.