A Short Story : A Story?

It was a cold and foggy wednesday morning on june 10th. Hunter was sleeping on his bed when he heard his mom call him.

I walk deeper into the woods hoping to find him soon. I call for him one more time, when he doesn’t answer I turn around to head back to the cabin and leave. I can’t see. I don’t know where I am or where I am even going I pretty sure at this point I am lost. I continue to walk hoping to get out of here. I hear something move. I stop. It moves again. This time it is closer. My heart begins to race.

The unfortunate portrayal of Muslims through the media, marginalises and misrepresents the Muslims community. The media has introduced a distorted and unbalanced image of Islam and Muslims, describing their religion as radical and violent, and portrayed followers as a group of brutal barbarians. Although the media exposes Muslims as all terrorists, the minority of the Muslim community are hidden behind the scenes, waiting for someone to speak up.

Author’s have different tactics with how they convey their themes, and how the message impacts the reader. Themes can be conveyed through characters, plot lines, or symbols. In Tennessee William’s play, The Glass Menagerie, the author effectively uses symbolism to convey that escaping reality is a method of coping with life’s hardships. First, William’s effectively uses the fire escape as a symbol of inward issues Tom tries to escape. Not only does the fire escape serve as a physical entrance to the Wingfield's apartment, it also serves as "a structure whose name is a touch of accidental poetic truth” (I.i.9).

Madeline stopped dead in her tracks when she saw that Gabriel’s things were gone from the room when she returned. Had he left her? She shook her head, trying to calm her anxious heart. Gabriel didn’t seem like the type that would just up and leave because she was uncertain about what she wanted. It seemed more likely that he had just moved to a different room.

The house was warm but cold I glanced in the book as I thought where is my best friend my twin I need her right this second. We needed to talk but then mom walked into the room saying dinner is ready we are having my favorite lamb and mash potatoes, but the thought was still why doesn’t she talk about him did he do something wrong or was it her but I wish I could know. My sister showed up just in time.

Nat pulled a stool forward and sat down and leaning forward put the cigarette up to the top of the flame. The flame lapped at the cigarette for a while until the end glowed red like the embers of the fire. Nat withdrew the cigarette from the flame, put it up to his mouth, hesitating, then sighed and gently put the cigarette in between his lips, hanging downwards, as he drew in a deep breathe, allowing the smoke to fill his mouth. He gently blew out and watched the blue-grey smoke fill the air around him.

She glanced around, but she was all on her own. The only noise came from a fire where logs burned and crackled in a grate. Framed photos lined the top of a mantle but they were too far away to see. She stared for a while into the flames and let her mind drift. Shapes formed in the flames. First a gargoyle, and then a girl’s face. The bright orange light hurt her eyes so she let them close. A few minutes later she jerked herself awake again. She felt hot. She kicked off the blankets only to find she was naked underneath. She blushed and covered herself before anyone came in the room.

Snow was a blanket upon Atlas’ austere domain, almost blindingly glistening against the waning sun. The chilling breeze bit at cheeks and battered noses until they were tinged pink. Children wandered the streets with deftly-crafted snowballs and prepared for a winter’s war while adults huddled cozily inside by the crackling fire. The bitter, arctic season was upon them.

June didn’t like being home now with Joe gone. The house was quiet. No slamming doors, no calls from her father to help him bail the hay or herd the cows. Most weekends, she would show up at Joe’s after trying to reach him on his cell. She would sit on the front steps or in the car and wait. She’d give it an hour each time before she gave up and left.

The wind swept across the barren land not a single plant was in sight. Lifeless cracked ground stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. In the horizon a figure stumbled through the cracked earth. His armor covered in dust despite this it was obviously the armor of someone who was either belonged to a powerful family or clan or was a powerful adventurerer. It was pure black with a silver emblem of a hawk with red wings on the chest made of hardened leather for flexibility in combat.

A small floating island, all around a blue night sky is illuminated by the moon. The city on top, as quiet as a mouse. A small person running through one of the many alleyways, he stops, petrified. A large being concealed by shadows, barely visible. I stopped, assuming the worst, but as it stepped away from the darkness, I realized it was only my friend, Jonathan. After an exciting session of angered whispers, I told him the reason I was there. “I was heading down to West Side to talk to Uncle Isaiah about the Sky Ship.”

It was a dark and gloomy day. Once again Alex was home alone drowning in his own solitude. His parents were working, and his brother, Angel, was god knows where.

It was a freezing winter day and our whole family was inside huddled in one room by the fire place with a piping hot cup of cocoa with two or three marshmallows in it. Although it was warm inside Sarah and I wanted to go outside to the library anyways because we loved reading… well not so much Sarah but since I'm her brother we kind of did everything together. “Mother, Father” I said “ can me and Sarah go outside to the library?” they both paused and gave each other that one overprotective look and they said “John you only just turned 13 last week and Sarah's only 11” I realized that we would have to sneak out so when we were done Sarah and I quietly snuck out while the parents were distracted discussing things I wasn't paying attention to.

Everything began that night with the ringtone of my phone, echoing through my dining room.