All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Chapter One, (continued from Quick Death)
Chapter 1
Jane Browning was getting annoyed. “Why do I have to cover this story today?” she asked herself. She was writing her next and last article for the New York Postal and was stuck writing about the latest murder case. Today she had to sit in the trial of Michael Gates who was found guilty of assault and the murder of his wife Maryanne Gates. Jane had been covering the story for the past month and a-half and was getting sick of it. Furthermore, today she was supposed to have a meeting with the real-estate agent for the new house she was looking at in Grafton, West Virginia. He was up for the weekend and she was supposed to be having lunch with him a half hour ago. “Just assign him 20 years in jail and get it over with.” Jane mumbled. Sure she had sympathy for Mrs. Gates and her family, but after covering New York cases for the past three years she was happy that this was her last.
Finally, the judge gave Gates his sentence and Jane Browning was free to leave. “At last” She thought and scribbled down Gate’s sentence in her journalist notebook and followed the jury crowd out of the stuffy courtroom. When she reached the outdoors she breathed in the fresh air and the stretched before quickly running to the curb and signaling for a taxi. Luckily, a cab pulled over right away and Jane instructed him to the restaurant in which she was meeting the real-estate agent Bob Millers. “I look awful.” Jane thought looking at herself in her mini cosmetics mirror. “Oh well, it’s not like I’m meeting the mayor. It’s just a guy I’ll probably never see again after this whole house thing is over with.” Jane smoothed out her jacket as the cab began to slow down. She was starting opening the door before it came to a complete stop and was already shoving her money at the driver. He took it grumpily and Jane rushed out. “Great first impression, I look like I’ve been sleeping in my clothes and I’m an hour late all because of that stupid article.” She rushed into the restaurant and asked the maitre-de for her reserved table. She was amazed to find the table empty. Great, I was worried about having my deal closed because I was late but he’s not even here! Jane sat down and slumped her shoulders. Oh grow up Janey, your thirty-three years old and your acting like your four. Jane sighed and sat up straighter while she picked up her menu. I might as well eat something while I wait. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ugh, this is not my day! Bob Millers was rushing around his small office getting all his stuff together while straightening his tie. He had woken up an hour late this-morning and had arrived at work almost two hours late. After a furious boss warning Bob had found that three of his costumers had left for another agencie and he found he was loosing money left and right to homes in the cape and other areas around the ocean. And I'm probably loosing another one right now. Millers thought as he rushed out the door with a coffee in hand. He was very late for his newest appointment with Ms. Jane Browning and if he lost her, he wold probably have to find a new job.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.