Shawn O' Flanagan

Lying awake in his lumpy bed, Shawn stared up at the ceiling feeling slightly homesick. He never thought he’d miss the slushy greenland and the old pubs that stood in his neighborhood. You would think after a long travel day he would have been exhausted, but Shawn was feeling quite the opposite. “Wait a minute”, Shawn thought to himself, “I haven’t eaten anything all day” as his stomach growled with disappointment.  Shawn hopped up and slipped on his plaid pajama pants to venture out into the new space.  It was 2:30 am when Shawn opened the door. He began to attempt to try to find some sort of snack, for his kitchen was pretty occupied with crusty “substances”. As he walked with his hands in his pockets, he turned the dark corner to see a light at the end of the hallway. A light that could be compared to that of an angle. It was the most magnificent machine Shawn could ask for: a vending machine. His mouth began to water as he walked swiftly towards it, but before he could...

Azula and Shawn walked along the bland hallways as an attempt to find Shawns mystery room. As they headed for the elevator to take them to the fourth floor, they talked and laughed as if they had always known each other. The elevator arrived and the doors slowly opened as the two newfound friends rushed down the hallway to catch it. As the climbed in, the sound of classical music flooded their ears.  The two had finally reached the fourth floor as they set out to find apartment 408. The fourth floor was much different than where Azula lived. It seemed almost dirty and had a very distinct, old-timey smell. After few twist and turns, Azula guided Shawn to apartment 408.  “I can't thank you enough,” said Shawn as he glanced up at Azula.  “It's really no problem!” She said with the brightest smile.  Before Shawn knew it, Azula was gone and all that was left was himself, his belongings, and a key. He inserted it into the doorknob, twisted it, and opened the door.  ...

The morning mist started to disperse as Shawn walked out of the bathroom lobby. His belongings stood right where he left them before frantically running into the bathroom. His guitar, which had fallen after leaning against the broken bathroom, now contained a small dent in its body. “Oh that’s just great.” Shawn murmured under his breath. After what seemed like hours of waiting, Shawn looked up to see a man dressed in more formal attire compared to everyone else in the lobby. Shawn grabbed his bag, threw his guitar is the black case, and leaped towards the man. “Excuse me sir, I was wondering if I could get a room-” “Yes, of course, right this way” said the concierge. Shawn followed him to the desk where an outdated computer stood. The concierge typed obnoxiously loud on the keyboard for a few seconds, asked Shawn a couple questions concerning his personal information, then handed him a pair of room keys attached to an oval ring with his assigned room number. “Your room number i...

As Shawn's fingers continued to strum, he noticed a large shadow cast over him. He glanced upwards and saw a large a figure looking down at him. It was a man, just like the ones he had seen on all the popular American television shows. His muscular arms were crossed, and pinned to his chest stood a shiny, golden badge. Behind the officer, a woman in a similar intimidating suit held a notepad and a pen, watching the interaction. In horror, Shawns eyes became the size of ping-pong balls and his heart raced so fast it was practically beating out of his chest. He slowly stopped strumming his guitar.  “Hello Sir, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions concerning the murder of Mr. Evans”  “I...I...I gotta use the jack!” Shawn stumbled as he sprinted for the bathroom, leaving his guitar by the broken fountain where he was sitting. As the guitar that was once leaning against the fountain fell towards the hard floors, the two officers looked at each other in utter con...

The day started off with a single guitar being majestically plucked in the middle of the Foxberry lobby, flooding the halls with a sound almost impossible to replicate.  Shawn O’Flanagan, a new Irish exchange student, walked into the unfamiliar space in the early misty morning. By the looks of his foreign, curly red hair, the brightness of his extra blue eyes, and the hundreds of freckles covering his small nose and high cheeks, it was obvious that Shawn was not from the city. His arms were covered in a sleeve of tattoos and hands occupied by a ripped black guitar case, which he carried almost everywhere he traveled. Not knowing about the horrific event that had just occurred in the apartment building, Shawn walked in with hopes of finding a place to call home while studying nearby.  Excited to continue his journey, he looked around at the lobby, looking for someone to greet him. An older man approached him with an utter look of unpleasantness. As he walked up to Shaw...