"Are you sure you’ll be fine without me?" Mabel asked‚ twiddling her numbs nervously as she sat on her bed in the room she shared with her brother in the Mystery Shack. Mabel was preparing to leave for a fun day with her friends‚ Candy and Grenda‚ as she planned to spend this summer more focused on friends and family more so than romance. In response to her question‚ Dipper gave a small nod‚ and coughed in between. Dipper gave her a weak smile‚ his voice cracked awkwardly even more than usual because
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For the sake of anonymity I’ll keep some names private‚ and call myself Beowulf. My story happened around two years ago‚ I was 26 years old when my family and I had noticed that my grandmother was starting to forget our names‚ couldn’t recall certain events‚ and at times seemed in a daze and lost from her state of mind‚ completely forgetting where she was in that moment. This was followed by her stumbling around the house and falling a few times. One time it got to the point where she fell down
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Howardsville‚ a quaint little city‚ nestled in the foothills of the Putney Mountains located forty miles southwest of Charleston‚ West Virginia‚ had its own dark history. Having lived his entire life in the two–story house on the outskirts of town‚ Ernest Cassidy was familiar with the myths‚ legends‚ and lies about his city and was always quick to defend it. The mysteries began years earlier when Dr. Ronald Hackney; a surgeon at General Hospital in Charleston came up missing. One morning‚ he didn’t
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It was true. Several of the maidens and their families left the compound as soon as the food supply became scarce. Her Master had not been outside of the home in months as his appearance became increasingly unrecognizable—even to her. It made her sad to see the man she’d grown to admire succumb to such an unexplainable illness and tragedies that surpassed human limitations. Ayala always thought that one day she would marry herself a man much like her Master… someone rich‚ handsome‚ and who
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Though‚ Castiel had never seen the man reading a book‚ it was odd to say the least; coming to a place made for books but not read a book. Castiel didn’t think much about the issue‚ he was usually daydreaming about how it would feel to touch that honey like hair or how it would be the man’s reaction if he ever caught him staring. Castiel presumed that the man only accompanied someone to the library and was always waiting for them to comeback‚ and Castiel never stuck around to see who it may be. Perhaps
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The graveyard was dark and shadowed; tulips lined the cobblestone pathway that led to the mausoleum‚ looming darkly against the feeble moon. I strode through the graveyard‚ glancing nervously around at the shadows that lay thick upon the graves like a shroud. Tulips‚ protruding like withered stakes from the ground‚ lined the pathway‚ and I could smell their sickly-sweet odor as I approached the mausoleum‚ looming above me like a forbidding monument to the feeble moon above. “Rachel!” I cried out
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man’s world‚ you must act like a man now.’ His father got down from the train and stood outside the window‚ a hand reaching in 195 to pull Anil towards him and kiss his forehead. The train let out a wail‚ announcing its intention to depart in a short while. ‘Are you sending me off because I saw him do it?’ Anil asked. Ragunathan was taken aback by the question. He was ashamed for helping the headman to hide the truth about Marimuthu’s wife’s death‚ ashamed that he had
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‘twas the night before hike-mas. I had begrudgingly agreed to go to bed before 10‚ even though I insisted that I could stay up later and still be okay in the morning. I was all packed. I had packed plenty of water‚ water‚ water‚ and even more water. I had snacks. I had lots of sunscreen on‚ and lots of sunscreen in my backpack‚ although there’s only so much sunscreen can do. I had anxiety about a couple of things. One of those things was my fear of snakes‚ and the other was my fear of heights. I
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Detective Warren Gallagher arrived at the Santa Monica pier a little after eight that morning. He was feeling rather lively because last night his girlfriend Amanda had agreed to become his fiancé‚ and because the barista at Cultivar Coffee Bar had given him an extra shot of espresso on the house. It’s wasn’t every day that he got to report to his job as a crime scene detective looking forward to the day that lay ahead of him. As he stepped out of his Subaru and began to walk up the boardwalk his
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need to compromise the way in which we communicate our ideas so that we can appeal to the views of the majority. Two authors explore how their attempt to compromise almost caused them to become detached from their roots. In "Mother Tongue‚" by Amy Tan‚ Tan talks about growing up as a young child in America and learning the English language. She speaks about growing up as a writer and her mother ’s imperfect diction which had a major influence on her. On the other hand‚ In her essay‚ "Censoring
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