short storys essay

There's been a murder, and I know who did it. Mr. Boddy invited Miss Scarlet, Prof. Plum, Mrs. Peacock, Mr. Green, Col. Mustard, and, well, not me because I was already there. I am Mr. Boddy's maid, Miss White. It all started in Mr. Boddy's mansion. Mr. Boddy was having a dinner party and didn’t know that he invited a murderer. He didn’t know that he invited murderer's. It all started when the guests arrived for the dinner party. "Your place is to die for Mr. Boddy!" exclaimed Scarlet

rolling hills of multicolored garbage. What was new trash was giving birth to fresh rot to replace old rot. The refuse mounds were the breeding center for every known species of insect and rodent, a world where few people ventured to sojourn. In a short while, they trudged through knee-high garbage while following the burly man who didn't notice the refuse. He stopped at a freshly planted mound of trash and assorted debris. It was still vibrant in color and odor. "Here." He pointed to the mound.

Kenzie had just steped off the boat. Looking around she could tell that it was good to be back home. It also meant that she could see Mikael. As he was one of the many who would get tangled in her web. She knew that if she didn't see her father on this trip. Kenzie would pay for it later. But Mikeal would be her main reason. And she that he would want to spend time with his little sister. As she as now in Auradon. Kenzie took it upon herself to make sure that she watched out for Mia. Even though

In an alleyway riddled with trash laid a man barely conscious of the world. Beneath his back, seeping all around him was his life. Reaching his bloody fingers up to trace the edges of a nonexistent face. " Serenity," he rasped. "Serenity," he rasped again.     The Imaginary face became a full-blown body. The woman's hands reached for his hand. The illusion seemed to clasp around it in mid-air. She brought it to her lips kissing it. He could not see her eyes. " Do you think you can make it to me.

“When I was young, He would tell us this story about a beach that we were going to move to. Live in a house right up on the shore, away from all the noise and traffic that a crowded city can bring. The day’s warm weather will balance out with a cool breeze at nighttime. Each night would be a home

The first time I tried to write a story I was in grade school. It was for a seventh or eighth grade assignment. It was about a puppy who got lost and was stranded. He was found by a police dog who brought him back to his home and made sure he stayed safe. I still have the story at my house. I wrote a different short story in my eighth grade year that was very dramatic. I wrote about a girl who was extremely young that got pregnant, and ran away from home so she could keep the baby. It told about

A visit from the Russians the week before, streamed through Ava’s mind. Two comrades from the cooperative, asking for her father as they walked past the piled haystacks to find him. One of them had purposely stopped and stuck his iron bar into a stack, probing the hay. Would they return soon and lead her family to their death? The Magyar's wife brought another bottle of vodka to the table and went back to dusting the cupboards. Ava curled up on the bench pretending she was asleep. “I don't understand

Gray- I watched as the um, um...I do not remember her name, I have a horrible memory. I remember the other servant called out her name but I do not seem to remember. The girl took Will's arm and followed him to his horse. Her lovely smile shone as she watched him get on his horse. Susan's mane flickered and she waited patiently for both of them to get on. A pang of jealousy hit me as my heart burned in my chest. What is wrong with me? She is a servant! "She is pretty is she not?" The Queen said

A black Ford Escalade, one of a fleet of vehicles, the monks kept secured in a warehouse in the town of Tangkouzhen, right at the southern base of the mountain cruised past her. So, Tung knew she was off the grounds. She waited for the vehicle to put some distance between them before she moved. She stared at the road for a second, and when she turned her head to move out from the bamboo grass, less than six inches from her face was a lush bamboo green pit viper, its vivid yellow eyes staring her

It was Gwaine, leaning against a lamppost, his washed-out pallor obvious beneath the weak lamp light. Gone was the usual mirth from his eyes, his cheeks had hollowed, and it appeared as if he hadn’t bothered combing his hair in a week. “Hey.” Gwen could not think of anything else to say, and she began to panic, wondering if Gwaine had relapsed. He looked that awful. “We need to talk.” “All right.” Gwen wanted to take his hand, but she was afraid he might not be receptive. “Are you okay? Have