George Kid: A Personal Narrative Of My Life

1. What descriptive details does the author use to make it clear that the setting of the story is a small town?

     As driving into Hickory, Indiana, a tiny town, I see that every house has a basketball hoop on the side of their barn. The little town consists of one main street. It has the local supermarket, barbershop, hardware store and some other small stores. While driving on the main street, I noticed that everyone notices a stranger coming into town. That is how small Hickory is. Driving into the high school parking lot I see that the girls dominate the young men by far. Looking around I also see that everyone is talking about the basketball game that night.

Now when I say tiny town I mean it. The population is about 1,400 people with one gas station, one grocery store, and 2 restaurants with some gift shops. The first time I saw Grand Marais we drove into town and in a blink of an eye it was gone. I’ve never seen anything like this other than in movies. We finally got to her cabin, and it was one of three houses on that entire road which at first seemed horrific. But something I’ll never forget is how bright the stars were. We stood outside and saw every star in that sky, since there wasn’t many neighbors with their lights on, or highways with a cluster of traffic. The first morning I was ther, Brooklyn started to show me some amazing spots such as Hurricane river, Tahquamenon Falls, Marquette Harbor, and so much more. I got to experience a place that most people don't even realize is on the map. When the vacation was finally over I asked my friends back at home what they did. Which you can probably guess was them glued to their phones and laptops all summer. I had an amazing summer that I’ll always remember, and I'm glad it didn't involve

Her old town valued money and status. This town values relationships and hard work. The influence of this community is positive on her. They let her live her life with Tea Cake instead of trying to turn their relationship into a town relationship. Their relationship is strengthened because of the

It has been ten years since Fred left for Vancouver. Fred is now twenty-seven, but still in the seventeen-year-old body he was when he was turned into a wretched monster. He still thinks of the day that he left behind Bree and Diego, part of him wishes that he had stayed, instead of going to Vancouver. He also remembers the cold, dreary day in Seattle, walking home on his usual route, not having a care in the world, because everyday was the same, until he saw the man from the newspapers. The man in the newspapers was mentioned everywhere. No one knew where Riley, a nineteen-year-old college student would have went. Fred thought about how idiotic it was to ask Riley if he was okay- maybe he would still be a human. Fred sulked as he walked home from the fifth high school he has went to.

“Small town big heart,” they say locked away behind their cold immaculate castle gates that rest on the remains of the previous farmland and plains. The collective heart beats but only at a convenient time suiting parties involved. “A place where everyone matters,” they utter as their motto in indistinguishable monotone voices. The people are too wrapped up in their everyday lives to ever be concerned about their neighbor, they look through life with gilded glasses. It’s as if a fog had descended slowly creeping into their view distorting what they once held most dear.

Girls perch on the tables like exotic birds gossiping and giggling, a football fly’s above their heads between two jocks in varsity jackets parading their toned muscles. Groups of high schoolers sit around the room laughing. Weekend has arrived and the hallways of the school were filled with tons of kids ready to go home. Every ear filled with the sound of multiple conversations going off at once, lockers opening and closing, music blasting without. I had managed to push past the constant stream of children and to the school field. The grass was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost. As I walked my footprints were embedded, leaving a piece of me in the cold ground. I saw my friends faraway chattering and fooling around. I was stuck in the wrong crowd; they are nothing like me but somehow I am still friends with them. I slowly made my way up to my “so called friends”.

After a supper of fried fish, grits, and biscuits, the children’s bellies were full and their imaginations were running wild- they hadn’t completely forgotten living on the trail- The same as when they were younger, they wanted Charity to tell them a story before they went to sleep. She smiled at their eagerness, remembering all the stories she had told them at night while they were on the trail from Sandersville to Canton. It seemed that once they were settled in a house and not camping under the stars, the need for her bedtime stories were no longer necessary. Living on the trail seemed to bring her children much closer to her; she missed living that way…

I sat on the sidewalk watching people go by. I could feel the dry, tasteless grit in my mouth from the wagons that fly by. Men and women walk past hardly giving me a sideways glance. Sometimes they’ll even mutter something under their breath. I know how I look to them a poor beggar on the side of the road that's not worth their time or money.

As I paid my visits to Elkton, a new town revealed itself. Elkton was dying. The sign on the hardware store had fallen on one side, the movie store had bankrupted and closed, and the tiny library was a pathetic joke. I never went back to the thrift store, I had thrown away my stuffed animals long ago, and the place stank of cheap cigarettes. Worst of all, the little house I had once lived in was dead and vacant. Weeds almost swallowed the "For Sale" sign at the road, and a green film grew over the siding. To me, Elkton reeked of decay and hopelessness. I hated the

Our story starts in a small town called Wormwood. This town was exceptionally similar to other small towns all around the world in some aspects and drastically different in others. It was a town where everyone knew each other by name, a place you couldn’t exactly blend into the woodwork and keep your head down. Word traveled fast here; there were no secrets that stayed secret for long. It was a dark and dingy place, brimming with claustrophobic alleyways and menacing shadows. The people were no different. They reflected the town they called home, all crooked and devious. When you were born in Wormwood, it was unlikely you would call any other place home. This town sucked you in and sucked you dry; once you were there, you were there to stay.

His friends were already gone anyway. Everyone had left Salmon Falls for other towns. It was a ghost town. The sun had bleached the green off the farms, the store’s sign hung by one hinge eerily groaning in the audible wind and his aunt’s bakery’s words still discerned “Here for man is meal, his bread”. The only light came from the fires burning in the South fork of the Salmon Falls river where this mining settlement boomed.

After the long train ride to New Hampshire I’m finally here. As soon as I step out the train station the warm sun hits my face. I look around the area and everything looks so perfect and clean.As I look at the sun it’s smiling down at me. I see a bright clear sky, families taking strolls in the park across the street, kids goofing around in the playground, and boys skateboarding. I still can’t believe I made it out of Bellmont for good. It feels like a dream. Across the street I see two adults looking straight at me and

There once was a seventeen year old boy, who was dealing with constant arguing at home. He had two younger brothers and a little sister but a father that left them when they were young. One of his brothers named Oliver was fifteen, James was twelve about to turn thirteen the next day and Sally his younger sister who was nine. Sally was his favorite and the closest too. This boy name was George Garden. George would take care of the family a lot. The Garden's lived in a small town in Texas called Spicewood. The the streams of water you would hear in the night is now just Crows crying for food. Their was one high school in Spicewood, called Water Streams Cathedral even though it was opposite of what it was now. The roads were so dry that people

A ways away from a town that I call home, I found a happy place. I often find myself walking through the park by myself. The beautiful trees, the way the yellow and red leaves crumple under my feet every step I take. When the flowers bloom and how it's the most spectacular sight you could ever imagine seeing, all the different colors that appear. When you breathe in and you get this smell of purity, you feel free and alive. Sometimes I like to sit on the old wooden bench where the bench frame is a little rusted, and I get rid of my thoughts and my eyes search the sky. In the winter the icy breeze makes me shiver, and the cold air I take in, is like sitting in front of an air conditioner and breathing in. Some mornings the sun beams across the sky, which is not quite blue yet, but the sun has almost fully risen. When the wind blows, it grazes over the blades of grass. Some days I just stand and take a deep breath in and I can taste the spring. When summer comes around, and the bees are buzzing, and the hot sun beats on the back of my neck, I lay on the soft grass and listen, to the birds chirping a beautiful song, and the kids playing in the park. The sky is the bluest view in sight.