“At around the point where the Mace Boulevard exit sign is posted”, Dr. Nolan-Pryor was looking to her left, when suddenly she heard “the sound of a crash” coming from a location ahead of Dr. Nolan-Pryor’s car and to her right.
They surged about her, caught her up and bore her, protesting, and then pleading, and then crying, back into a tunnel, a room, a closet, where they slammed and locked the door. They stood looking at the door and saw it tremble
My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that red ribbons began to flow from the gashes. “What the – Jay, let’s scram!” Footsteps thundered upon the floorboard as the intruders made their escape. I doubled over, freeing a heavy breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
On October 8th an early afternoon my mother and I rode a train to head downtown to visit my father at work. He worked so much the only time I see him was in the morning and at bedtime. We pasted through most of the wooden brown town. Every time I go outside I see a million shades of brown. We reach busy and crammed downtown.
He walked past the barn, past the remains of the farm house, and out onto the road not looking back, knowing that if he did, he would go crazy like Snowball. As he was walking away, he heard something behind him. A light, but constant buzz was coming from the road. A van had passed him. The people jumped out at him and beat him, bruising him, and broke his right front leg so he can’t escape.
When he was on his way to pick up the boys he became distracted and lost focus of where and how fast he was driving. All of a sudden he was headed head long into oncoming traffic so he jerked his wheel to the right. When he did that he avoided the oncoming traffic, but sent himself flying off of the road into a tree. Junior was okay, but the car definitely was not. He just knew his father was going to be furious with him, but how was not sure if he cared anymore.
Logan had started backing up as fast as a missile, in the golf cart, and was about to hit a house across the road. My Dad ran to stop Logan from hitting the other people’s house, as my Mom, and Grandpa tended to my Grandma, who was bleeding from a crack in her
The hammer came back up, and down again. Eyelids just about to close the distance, a one-thousand ton weight on his shoulders, every single drag of the foot through the snow bringing him closer and closer to collapse. His eyes closed, the amount of ground he was covering shortening as the agonizing seconds went on. Panic shot through his mind as he lulled; what if there was somebody nearby? He looked from right to left, a long, wide, twitching gaze on every drift.
He told Alex (my twin sister) and I to wait in the truck. I was confused and curious as to why we had stopped. I just had assumed my dad had to use the restroom and couldn’t hold it any longer. That was until my dad abruptly climbed down into the ditch alongside the road. He made his way through the corn stover, nearing a tall green plant.
My eyes suddenly protruded outwards as they locked onto a wide metal door – with rust covering its burnished doorknob. I assumed that this must’ve been the room for the servants. I reached for the corroded doorknob, only to tragically realise that it wasn’t turning. I felt the vigorous blood being pumped into my brain, as my veins struggled to remain intact.
As it approaches, as if it were going downhill, I brace my arms for the impact and my impeding death. At the last second, the truck vanishing and through a mirage comes a figure that pushes me into the hole. The fall wasn’t long, but the landing was rough. I could feel the pain of something jagged as well as hear the crunch of bones and metal. As I try to recover from my fall, I look to my right and see Alex’s class ring on the hand of a detached limb.
5 years ago, one fresh midnight, arrived to a new place in Atlanta Georgia that our life forever changed. There were plenty of cars, trees, and building. It is fairly cold and the wind is blowing like the tree arms dance. Many lights that can be seen shine through the windows of buildings at night time. It quiet outside.
Jackson’s heart sped as he ran towards his home. He could hear the pumping of his heart and the sound of his feet hitting the concrete. He turned onto his street and immediately slowed down, the door to his house sat wide open. The door let out a creak as his fingers grazed against the dark oak. In the living room, a light haired man sat facing the door.
My leaden arm reaches for the door handle, "Right here 's fine, man," I falter. Not waiting for the cab to stop, I burst through the passenger door. Frantically, I sprinted on the air two inches above the asphalt. Breakneck. Thunderclap.
A noisy clash against the metal bars that imprisoned me awoke me from my tender sleep. Somebody had dropped by for my daily meal. He stared at me through the narrow slit that was between the bars.
