Alice’s Candy Store Fall wind rustled the leaves on Vendetta Street. The sky, prettier than a watercolor, with blues, purples, and oranges swirling together dreamily. As she looked at her watch, Meg noticed it was about dinner time and her mother would become worried soon. In no rush to get home, she trudged her feet, knowing her mother wouldn’t be happy about her absence at family dinner. Her grandmother’s yarn shop had already locked its wooden door and the sign had been flipped to read “closed”. From outside of Suzy’s Coffee and Scones, Meg saw Suzy and her teenage son cleaning the counters, a rosy glow on their cheeks. Ominous clouds swirled overhead like black sheep frolicking in a zero-gravity pasture. An eerie glow was cast down Vendetta …show more content…
The cat shrieked with disgust at the sight of Meg, and the fresh blood stained on the sidewalk. Sitting up and scanning her surroundings for any friends that may have seen her spill, she pushed herself onto the shop doorstep and out of sight from the road. Collecting herself, she assessed her injuries: scraped palms, bloody knees, and a goose egg. Meg noticed the cat had stuck around, and was eying her day old tuna sandwich which laid smashed under her bookbag. “Here you miserable thing. Take all you want. Now look what you’ve done you little nuisance!” Meg muttered at the cat. The cat meowed in surprise as the sandwich bounced off its head and onto the concrete. The cat trotted over to Meg, brushed against her, and pawed the door open. “What more can go wrong?” Meg asked herself. The brass door knob glistened, showing Meg her pitiful reflection as she opened the door emblazoned with Annie’s Candies. Shrill creaks accompanied by low groans echoed throughout the once colorful (presently dusty) shop. Soft padding sounds entered Meg’s awareness, startling her greatly, until she realized it was just the cat who had followed her in presumably to get out of the cold. She followed the cat into the back room of the store, full of candy and with
The author illustrates the “dim, rundown apartment complex,” she walks in, hand and hand with her girlfriend. Using the terms “dim,” and “rundown” portrays the apartment complex as an unsafe, unclean environment; such an environment augments the violence the author anticipates. Continuing to develop a perilous backdrop for the narrative, the author describes the night sky “as the perfect glow that surrounded [them] moments before faded into dark blues and blacks, silently watching.” Descriptions of the dark, watching sky expand upon the eerie setting of the apartment complex by using personification to give the sky a looming, ominous quality. Such a foreboding sky, as well as the dingy apartment complex portrayed by the author, amplify the narrator’s fear of violence due to her sexuality and drive her terror throughout the climax of the
It was a sunny day with a sweet aroma of blooming tulips. The sunlight glittered on their faces as the breeze rattled the chestnut tree above. There was an occasional giggle as they talked, but there was also a hint of discomfort and awkwardness between them as they peeked at each other’s face and recoiled when the other looked up. When the bell rang twice, I saw them say goodbye and walk away from each other. In the darkness of the crowd, a glimmer flashed into my eyes from Hannah’s cheeks.
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...
Miss Brill?s fur is her most prized possession as she refers to it once as ?Dear little thing!? (182). She is excited to be taking the fur out of its box, but is heartbroken when a young woman refers to it as ?a fried whiting? (186). It is this moment when the drastic transformation of Miss Brill is evident. Miss Brill then leaves the park, skips the usual bakery stop, and goes home to her ?room like a cupboard? (186). She takes off the fur, puts it back in the box, and the last line says ?But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying? (186). At this point it is now evident through symbolism, Miss Brill herself is crying. It is now Miss Brill finally sees reality.
I push the pole above my head and then swing it down in an arch to my hip, its tip lifting into the sky. Leaning back, I focus on the back of the metal box in the ground, my head clearing. I take my first step forward and begin to count back in my head as my right foot hits the ground. Five… four… three… My pole begins to drop, and as I reach my final step, I push it into the box and launch myself into the air. As my legs swing up, I clear the bar and fall with a soft thud onto the mat. For a moment, I lay there, my breath caught in my throat, and then I roll off and grab my pole.
I am what my uncle always calls a “Half-baked cake”. I was born in India, raised in Kuwait, cultured in America, and am currently living in Qatar. Although one would say that’s only four countries, I was transferred to different ovens while still being baked.
I wake up in the morning and I can feel the bracelet sliding down my arm as I get up. The bracelet feels warmer than usual, this maybe because my arms are covered with blankets that make it warm during the night. When I wake up in the morning my bracelet has no distinct smell…but when I am getting ready I put perfume on that lingers on to the bracelet throughout the day. So it smells fruity almost like fresh berries that you would smell as you walk through the produce section of the grocery store. But a good smell, fresh and fruity.
There is always one creepy house on the street, this house is Mr. Frazier. I need to find a way to sneak in to Mr. Frazier’s house alexander said. Maybe I can use dads ladder to climb in to Mr. Frazier back window. Alexander climbed up to the back window. Bing pow boom bark bark bark! Alexander falls down the ladder. I have to find a way to get rid of those dogs.
For two years, I pranced ignorantly through out my life. Views of the pentagon, flooded the panoramic windows of my apartment. Chandeliered lobbies, tennis courts, a sauna, multiple pools, a gym, a balcony, roof top access, twenty-four-hour security and many other amenities blinded me. It was the place to be. Every night there were parties, people, liquor, music, and food. Two hundred miles away from home, I lived what I thought was, the ultimate life of independence. Completely naïve to the reality of the world, I impractically coasted up the hills in my life. Life was sweet, but have you ever heard the saying life is a box of chocolates? I soon learned, like a box of chocolates, no matter how sweet life is you never know what you’re going
Today was the day, months and months of practice and rehearsals leading up to today. The advice my mom had given me still running through my head, whatever happens it's part of the show, the audience does not exist, live the show. I was ready, as the opening music number was just starting up i walked on to the stage and the show began!
The plump fingers of the neon character was waving toward the black trickles that passing by. That night was supposed to be common, until the door opened unexpectedly. Sarah felt an abrupt surge of breeze seeped into her thin skin and froze her bones. She strained her shirt to keep the warm stream in her empty stomach. It was a mysterious man who provoked Sarah’s genuine curiosity when he wrapped both his fists with white duct tapes like a competitive boxer. There were greasy wounds glaring under the tape. The man was tall and fit even though he lowered his head and buried his body deep in a white, double-breast jacket. The jacket was a slim lead, but solid enough for Sarah to tell the man’s identity. He had spent years in the kitchen. It was late, at eleven o’clock. Only a doughy old couple who lived in the neighbor apartment were sitting near the window and spending their best effort to chew a piece of hard, bland turkey breast with their toothless gums. Yet the man still asked to be seated at a dilapidated booth in the most secluded corner, the place Sarah used to kill time with a cup of brewed coffee when there was no one to serve in the house. The man sat down quietly. Sarah noticed that he rolled his head a few times to inspect the cheap decorations on the yellow cinder block wall in the diner. He stopped his gazes at the shabby, scarlet window curtains for a
I am floating down a glorious river enjoying a warm chocolate chip cookie, when suddenly I come upon even more desserts. It is like some sort of Candyland, or a funky version of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory and goodness is it a place I was really starting to like. The river took a sharp turn and I nearly fell off my dream cookie when all of a sudden someone caught me. Goodness I am glad to see Sarah. Come to think of it, she probably is a lot of the reason why I am so into sweets in the first place. Whenever I go over to her house, her mother would feed me pounds of her fantastic cake and she never fails to give me more than enough. That’s it, she is the one to blame for this obsession of mine. But honestly let’s worry about that later, after I’ve enjoyed this dream world I am currently in.
Although I have grown up to be entirely inept at the art of cooking, as to make even the most wretched chef ridicule my sad baking attempts, my childhood would have indicated otherwise; I was always on the countertop next to my mother’s cooking bowl, adding and mixing ingredients that would doubtlessly create a delicious food. When I was younger, cooking came intrinsically with the holiday season, which made that time of year the prime occasion for me to unite with ounces and ounces of satin dark chocolate, various other messy and gooey ingredients, numerous cooking utensils, and the assistance of my mother to cook what would soon be an edible masterpiece. The most memorable of the holiday works of art were our Chocolate Crinkle Cookies, which my mother and I first made when I was about six and are now made annually.
It was 4:30 a.m. and Rebecca’s eyes opened and suddenly she discovered that she was wide-awake. Before she even realized it, her feet hit the floor and she began preparing for the day ahead. Rebecca’s mind was racing with excitement, well ahead of the task of feeding her furry companion Maximillian, whom she had picked up at the local animal shelter two years back. She could not recall what life was like before Max came into her life. Rebecca rarely shortened his name because, although Max rose from humble beginnings, it would not have been evident to anyone that had ever observed his dietary requirements, the plush four-legged amenities he enjoyed, or the way he took pleasure in relaxing within the cozy, yet well-appointed apartment he
The street lights outside flickered with age, popping and gently fizzing with every stream of electricity that ran through the bulb. Sat inside of the laundromat and watching the flickering lights, I was awaiting the wash cycle’s end. Clothes that were dirtied from last night were being rehabilitated by vicious lashes of water and soap. It was the holy cleansing we all deserved. The shirts, pants and socks all pushed up against the restricting glass of the washing machine’s door, fighting for freedom while I just sat there, aware of the cruelty and the drowning but yawning my cares away. The inside of the laundromat was cast in a harsh cyan light that pained the eyes at such late times as these. It was around 9 p.m., and the only people present included myself and a