Corvida

Spreading blood all over there walls and doors, one women threw a chicken’s head to represent the aunt. When the villagers were in the house the destroyed everything in it; the kitchen was filled with shatter glasses from the bowls and throwing the pots. The women next door entered their house with a broom swiping the negative dust above Kingston’s families head giving those negative spirts and every one of the villagers looking down upon Kingston’s family. When leaving their house, the villagers made sure that they took sugar and oranges and rubbed it upon the selves; it made sure they weren’t cursed from the disgrace the family had. Some stole the rest of the bowls and clothes that were not broken or torn. It was time for the baby to arrive and the no name women gave birth to her new born baby in a pit. Kingston’s remembers the next morning going to the family well noticing that it was plugged and noticed that the aunt had killed herself and her newborn baby in the family well. Making sure that Maxine Kingston doesn’t say a word to her father, her mother repeats again to her to not say a word to her father or to

It is pretty strange when Tretheway has not been ridden out the storm at that time, yet her ability to extend that empathy to the local residents is undeniable. Thetheway refacts all the deaths and “bodies washed away” (65) through the lens of witnesses – her family and the whole community – with emotional depth and

“I grew up there, thought I’d spend my entire life calling that city ‘Home.’ But it didn’t workout that way. I learned to love it here too,” Dustin told his neighbour’s grandkids, remembering the horrific event that tore him away from his home and ended his career. His neighbour, Sally, and her family were the only people who accepted Dustin; they shared something in common, the disaster. Sally lost her husband in the tragedy that destroyed Dustin’s once handsome face.

From somewhere in the stillness, she felt a soft breeze on her neck and heard a faint whisper in her ear “Lacey....” A trickle of fear ran down her spine as she gave a furtive glance around the room. She was alone, wasn’t she? Were there vagrants in the area? Afraid and needing to hear a human voice, she called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

On a dark and gloomy day, a cloud of sadness comes over the cemetery where many people gathered to mourn the death of Katrina Whyne, the mother of young Jasmine Whyne, only 11 years old. The death remains a mystery to this day, but what happened the day of her death will be remembered forever. Family and friends gathered together to celebrate the life of Katrina Whyne and grieve her loss. One of Jasmine’s closest friends Sophie Fogg, hasn’t spoken to Jasmine since Katrina’s death, as only Sophie knew the truth of Katrina’s demise.

The fluffy, snowflake white clouds play tag in the intensely blue sky. The trees wave continuously, while their bodies remained still. The birds chirped, loudly, outside the clear, old window of the unnecessarily blue antique house that everyone assumed was strange. No one assumed anything strange about the house owners with one daughter, who was naturally spoiled to the core. No one thought anything about her, or how she had an endless amount of shoes and clothes. Not how she never wore the same clothes twice, ever, her name was Katie Brooks, her mother’s name was Moringa Brooks, and finally, the most important of all, her father’s name was Peterson Brooks. Mr. Brooks may not seem important now, but he is, you’ll see. He was actually the

Mother and daughter had to face extreme weather: snow in the mountains, heat, flash floods, and washed out bridges. An encounter with a persistent tramp led Clara to shoot him in the leg. On the way Clara sprained her ankle in Pennsylvania and Helga wrote to their sponsor requesting a few days' extension of time so that Clara could heal. There were times when Helga had to think if it was a right think to take such a risk

Anna Beth Stevens grew up in the south. She was brewed with tradition in the wind and potatoes on the table. She always dreamt of breaking free of her snow globe town. She witnessed a sitcom once based in Beverly Hills. It left her yearning to know what lay in store on a separate coast. However, lighting bug jars and knee scrapes filed her summer. The tormenting of the neighbor boys would not do itself. Anna Beth was fearless and smart. When she was 9, she filled coffee filters with flower and cayenne pepper. She wet the bottom of them just enough to break when hitting the faces of the boys that lived behind her grandmother’s. They had no idea what had just landed in their eyes causing them to cry an uncontrollable cry, but they knew from that

It was the last day of July, and as usual, it was pouring rain in the "sunny" state of Florida. The rain dropped quickly, splashing to the ground in loud plops. Julia lifted up her hood and continued her walk down the street, trying to get away from her old foster home as quick as possible. This was a tradition of hers you see. Every time she got tired of a foster home, or if they were just too abusive, she would leave at the end of the month. This had happened five times

In Anniston, Abra opened her eyes and drew a large, gasping breath. Rather than jewels, her tears resembled a steadily rushing stream. She held her neck gingerly, rubbing at it and at the same time attempting to conceal her injury from her parents. It was sore, and she knew it would hurt even more later.

Stephanie got up in her ladybug costume. As she opened the white picket fence it squeaked but she didn’t care. Once inside the yard she followed the sidewalk path and made sure that she didn’t go into the tall thick grass for which she didn’t know what was in it. George slowly up from behind the fence and ran to where she was. As soon as the reached the big front steps of the old Victorian house George said, “Step, I don’t think this is a good idea. Hold my hand.”

Even when the sky cried, the town was perfect. The weekly manicured grass welcomed the unexpected warm summer rain. Rainbows of chalk drawings washed away in dark pools, and even with whole world seemingly turning dark, the perfect white trim on the houses shown, and the old gas street lights illuminated the pristine street. In the beige house, behind the white picket fence and the red door gathered a group of APT moms in the kitchen, hosting weekly book club. My sad reflection in the window stared back at me, visible to no one. I laughed quietly to myself when I saw the very familiar group. Making small talk at the head of the table was Mrs. Jackson, I had gone to school with her son forever. Funny, I didn’t see her at the funeral. Chipping away at her manicure was Mrs. Webster, our conservative Girl Scout leader whose daughter Lillian never liked me much. It was a quite diverse group, some sporting intricate hairdos thick with hairspray and pins, sipping their soy lattes perfectly poised, conversing only slightly

The first time I saw her I didn't have to ask why she was so comfortable lying limp in bed, her bare head, pale skin, and bone frame spoke volumes. Her name was Ava, a proud 10-year-old young girl. Without fail, daily I would wake up to the crisp sound of her singing as she danced with the devils. Looking over, I could see her pulling feathers out of her pillow as she watched them float effortlessly to the stone cold floor.

Annabelle had been told not to be agitated by her own personal bulldozer, that constantly tried to tear her down. But, Annabelle couldn’t help it. Ella was a tough cookie. She was willing to do terrible, horrible things to Annabelle, without any regret or fear of getting in trouble. In a moment, she had been spotted. Annabelle closed her eyes, whimpering to herself. Ella was next to the gigantic oak tree in an instant. She was as fast as a cheetah. Instantly, Annabelle knew what she had to do. She got up and zoomed towards the long, tall grassy area that was behind her. Ella was coming in hot right after her. “Annabelle, get back here! I am not finished with you!”

It took very long, but by sunset, she recognized her farm and her fields. But it had been destroyed. The fields looked as if they had erupted, and her animals were missing. But her house was the saddest . . . it was gone. All her belongings were scattered everywhere.