Example of Braided Narrative

The first day of 6th grade, I was shaking in fear, disliking everything about it. But after 3rd period, I realized it wasn’t too bad. The rest of the day went pretty smoothly and I was about to get one the bus when someone pushed me out of the way yelling, “Move it fatty!” When I got on the bus and found my assigned seat, I was frozen in fear to see that I was right in front of the kid that pushed me. His name was Luke. Luke was an 8th grader who was notorious for bullying the younger kids for his entertainment. “Looks like we got the fatty in front of us!” He yells to his friends as they crack up. I sit there ignoring them, feeling horrible. Luke leans forward and says, “Did you hear me, big boy?” I keep ignoring him as he continues to verbally

I was riding the school bus back to the closest stop to my house, Trail Wind Elementary School. It was quite a large elementary school, a beige color, with a sharp maroon outline. Then again, everything in Boise was large, from the mountains to the sky. Even though Trail Wind was closer, this bus was returning from Collister Elementary, 45 minutes across the city. It was a small school, but a very good one, one of the three schools in the nation with an advanced curriculum program. Since it was small, almost all of my friends rode the same bus, so I could always count on an interesting bus ride. Today was no exception. But it definitely wasn’t going to be a normal day.

I feel my heart boom in my ears screaming at me to go home and never come back, but I can’t because the Oakwood door is already staring at me in my face. I wonder how many times I’ll shut my mouth just so I don’t have to be told to shut it. I feel the air conditioning on my skin as I sit in my seat to unload my belongings. After putting my things on my desk, I heard a loud thump and saw scattered paper all over the floor. “Sorry ‘bout that, maybe you shouldn’t always be in everyone’s way,” hissed Mister to Cool for School, “or maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”

The bell signalling the end of second period hadn’t sounded, yet. Or maybe it had.maybe she missed it amidst the screams. She wondered if it was all over, perhaps somewhere in a distant corner of the school, students and teachers rejoiced and hugged each other knowing there was nothing left to fear. No matter how quite it was outside fear still rushed through her body, mentally and physically. She knew she couldn’t get up. Fear had paralysed her. She had fled the library and fled her way through the southern hallway when it began. The hall was infused with kinetic horror. An aimless frenzy of kids and adults bound in a reckless pack of mass confusion, like and ant hill being washed away with a hose. No new knew what to do. They just ran. Lisa couldn’t run. The fear had taken ahold of her and would allow her to move any faster than a sloth in a waking

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

The hallways of Lutz Creek High School were always too loud. The school was just big enough that the shouts and squeals of teenagers confident enough to express themselves tended to drown out the empty gazes of the students who weren’t. It was a hell hole for some and a haven to others, but to Faline Rabe, it was a temporary evil to be dealt with for one more year.

The bell rung and with my heart pounding out of my chest, I exhaled and sped to my first class. A million thoughts were running through my mind and I couldn’t have asked for more. A new school and a new start was bound to shake the nerves of my body and the air around me. My brain was spinning and my hands shook as I held onto the door that seemed to hide a different dimension. Oh wait, there was a line to get inside. As I fell in unison with my peers, I thought about this thrilling experience.

After a long day of yearbook signings and other “farewell activities,” the bell rang, marking the end of my last day of middle school. I said goodbye to my friends and teachers and stuffed the last of my books and supplies into my already full backpack. As I walked down the main hall for the final time, I laughed at how long the hall had once seemed and how short it felt now. With the anticipation of summer building in me, I walked faster and faster, almost running toward freedom, but when I reached the door marked “Chorus- Mrs. Vermillion,” I couldn’t resist the urge to stop in one last time. The chorus room was always a happy place for me, where the troubles of the school day seemed just a little bit less important. I was fond of every detail, from the loyal old piano to Mrs. Vermillion’s

On 23Nov16 at 1026 hrs. I, Deputy Halbasch, received a voicemail from Dewayne regarding the incident.

Next objective to survive, the bus. A gauntlet of angry sleep deprived teenagers and a stench of perfume. Reaching the middle of the bus without being yelled at or receiving death stares is the goal. Within the short 15 minute ride I've safely made it to school without the threat of tears or a single punch, surely enough as the school day starts that'll change.

When my brother and I were waiting for our parents to pick us up we saw Jack causing some trouble for some other kid. “Hey fatty, hand over some food,” said Jack “I know you have some, you're too fat to not.” “Go away,” said the other kid. My brother told me “Stay here, I'll go sort things out.” He went over there and said, “What’s going on here?” “None of your business” Jack replied, “Bullying another student is against the rules,” my brother said “Fine” replied Jack. I saw my mom’s car so I yelled to my brother “Mom’s here!” and we left.

The school bus smell of musty of old leather seats and rubber floor mats drifted through my nostrils. The unrelenting hyenas on the bus didn’t make a single seat available for me. If evil had a voice, it’d be this constant lampooning. "It looks like Amal's face caught fire and someone tried putting it out with a hammer,” offered Emily. I plunged into deeper despair. I was an isolated wildebeest being malevolently devoured by ferocious hyenas. I didn’t anticipate for Athletics Carnival because it was appearing/unraveling to be another dreadful day.

The day was Thursday, June 6, 2013. I remember it like it was yesterday. A humid night at Fort Riley, Kansas. My husband, Robert, had been deployed to Afghanistan for the past seven months. I was anxiously awaiting his return. We had previously been through the experience of a deployment when he deployed to Iraq three years earlier, however, experience can't prepare you for this moment. My three children and I had been waiting for hours. It was ten o'clock in the evening but we were awake as though we had drunk a case of Red Bulls. We were standing in a huge, empty building with all of the other families waiting for their Soldier to arrive. My stomach felt as though it was in a million knots. I couldn't believe after all of this time he would finally be back!

I have heard the same story about a hundred times, but it changes frequently. My father enjoys sharing some of his childhood stories at family functions, and it’s usually the highlight of the day. He gathers everyone in order to tell his stories that is sort of different than the last time he shared it. I often wonder if they’ll listen if he shared bits of his memories that he actually recall. However, when he shares his stories each time even with the new details everyone is engaged and laughing. Memoirists who write about their childhood may also encounter times where they have to play with the truth. It is okay for Memoirists to play with the truth, in times where their memory is foggy because if they were to explain their memory in vague

     Tony finished getting ready, and then we left for the high school. The parking lot was filled with all the other seniors’ cars. Tony and I walked into the library ten minutes late like usual, and the principal had already started giving instructions. I found my place in line and then was all ears. I couldn’t help but look around at all the others. Smiles were plastered on their faces as if they had heard a hilarious joke. Once the principal concluded his speech, the whole senior class paraded down the hallway to the commons in two uniform lines stopping just outside the gymnasium doors. We could hear the band warming up and playing songs. All the people that were standing around me were bubbling