An Unfortunate Journey : A Journey Essay : An Narrable Journey

It was a dark and stormy night. I, Jonathan Harker, was shaking and I didn't know what was going on. I was seeing terrifying shadows around my room. Also, last night, I thought a person or a thing was behind me, but I couldn't see its reflection through the mirror. I didn't know what to do, so I started packing.

Cathy Song, an Asian-American poet who grew up in Hawaii, wrote, “Who Makes the Journey.” She has gotten several awards, such as the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award and Song the Shelley Memorial Award, in her career. Cathy Song’s poems have been filled with imagery and tone that have left readers awestruck. “Who Makes the Journey” is about growing old and growing up too fast. In the poem, the reader is taken to through an elderly woman’s life through a third person’s perspective.

I snapped back into reality and opened my door. I stepped out into the narrow hallway, and I rested my hand on the door knob. The door was almost closed when I had a sudden urge to sneak one last glance at my room. Not being able to let go of my room, I cracked the door open again. My eyes rested on the skeleton of the room, and I gently closed the door.

When I got fired from my job over the summer I realized there wasn't a lot to do. I was bored. This led to me exploring the woods around my house.I found lots of things, old oil cans, empty budweisers, and coyote traps, but the biggest thing I found was a trailer.

The horse ride changed mike's opinion of his horse and himself because at first the was some trouble with getting him on the horse,but once he got on he started to enjoy himself and realize that just because he has a disability he doesn't have to limit himself.according to paragraph 1 it states how he felt or his opinion of getting on the horse. "No, stop it, I don't want to!" I yelled. Some of the horses in front of the barn looked at me, and all of the people stared, but I didn't care. Not being a sweet little angel like the disabled kids they show on TV is what gives my life meaning. I raised the volume of my voice enough to send birds flapping out of the shade trees. "You have no right! Isn't this supposed to be a free country?".

The Amazing Journey Daniel swallows some gum. He shows Tippy and Kitty the pack of gum with the warning DO NOT SWALLOW. Kitty has the idea for Daniel to tell Papa he swallowed gum. Using an X-ray Papa can see the gum in Daniel's tummy. Papa's laboratory has a shrinking machine that allows the gang to take a ride through Daniel's body and retrieve the swallowed gum.

It was late Tuesday, and I was up late reading an allegory when a muffled thud pulled me back to reality. I sat up still as a statue while I listened. the sound seemed to be coming from downstairs. I sprang out of bed and ran into the across the hallway.

Dirt cascaded down from the walls, and as the tremors increased in length and strength, the hallway grew darker around me. This

This is Olga writing you. I hope everything is going great there at Trails End and everybody is alright. As far as I remember for the past time you have been in charge for the schedule. The reason I email you is that I would like to give my two weeks notice. Being at Trails End was a wonderful time in my life. I always felt to be lucky to work for Disney because it is an incredible company and a place where I met so many exceptional people and had a chance to collaborate with them. The things with me went the way that I have to leave. My last day with Disney will be August 31st (two weeks from today).

The heavy clear doors slammed open one by one; big bright lights pierced my eyes above with little images of ceiling tile surrounding me that I could barely make out. People in navy blue uniforms huddled around me appearing to be in a hurry somewhere based on they’re bright red faces and the drops of sweat that were slowly dripping and collecting down they’re flushed faces, that eventually fell and exploded on my cold skin. All the commotion around me came to an abrupt halt. Now I was starring at the ceiling once again that now portrayed a blurring metal reflection of my broken and beaten down body that was bound to keep destructing and destroying. I could vaguely hear footsteps that seemed to be in the distance, but became louder and clearer with each step closer towards me. A sudden mask like object appeared directly over my face slowly easing its way down to grasp onto my pale face. Darkness now was the only thing left in sight and would stay this way for hours.

I was giddy to get home i was walking down my my street “ Walkers rd.” I scoffed and roll my eyes. I walk down this road everyday and appreciate the scorching irony every time. I opened the deep oak doors with force. My 13 year old body still has trouble. I shoved the door with the elbow my grey backpack wasn't depending on. Finally when my body managed to push the door, something wasn't right. By that i mean my house wasn't mine… the orchard my mother obsesses over wasn't the center of the foyer , the bright white walls with the complementary purple rug wasn't there. It was dark with a rustic light switch. I hit the light switch and the creepy hospital lights that turn on one by one showed blinding light that settled to a musty yellow

As we took our first steps on the trail we had know idea that we would have walked ten miles total. It was all uphill and made of dirt. We had to cross rivers and watch out for rattlesnakes and buffalo. This would be one of the hardest hikes we did. It was tiring and hot. The heat waves in the distance seemed to make it feel hotter. As we kept going we arrived to our first obstacle.

The rusty, metal gate is broken and falling apart. I open the gate to let myself in as the wind blows by gently. The earthy and dead smells, like a cemetery are very unpleasant for me, but I can’t give up now. I need to know what happened to my family before they died. I know it wasn’t a suicide like the police said. I lost my family when I was nine; my dad, my mom and both of my grandparents. I’ve stayed at my aunt’s house ever since. And there’s never a day that I don’t miss them. As I slowly walk toward the house, I can tell how humid the air is, by my sticky skin is rubbing against each other. I’m blinded by the fog around the house as I step closer and closer. The place is silent, so silent that I could hear my own heart beating; fast

It was a shining Portland day. Days in Portland were never shiny and never cheery but at that moment the world seemed to be shining down upon the world of coffee shops and bearded men. At the time, I was in an art museum. It was the first time I had been in the one that lived on Portland’s streets and I was excited for a chance to relish and walk amongst the works of art that called the Portland Art Museum their home. Little did I know, even the homes of inanimate pieces of marble and wood and paper have strict rules. As I watched a wreathing elf like jester scream and shout and jump up and down on a constant loop of an old television screen, I was reprimanded. I had not screamed, I had not shouted but I had leaned against a nearly empty wall. This was a crime of the most horrid offense and I was

I can still feel the perspiration saturate my skin, the agonizing throbbing of my own eyes. Since the incident, 3 days before, fear still overwhelms my body. I can't comprehend it, I can't believe it, and I can't accept what happened. Until I’m clear, I cannot leave the hospital. *Pause and look down*. I’m glad I can’t. Every time I stare at the bleached polystyrene tiled ceiling it takes me back to that day.