Hand-Me Narrative

I sprinted up the stairs, taking no time to stop for breakfast. I had to make it to the factory by 5 or I’d be beaten. The fear of punishment gave me extra speed as I ran out the door into the smoggy darkness. As I ran, I tied back my long blonde hair with the ribbon tied around my wrist. I ran down the cobblestone street, careful not to step in any of the piles of mud. The streets were devoid of carriages, anybody rich enough to own a horse wasn’t getting up this early. The only people I shared the streets with were other children and adults going to work.

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”.

As I awoke on the average school day ready to take on the world. I do my usual morning routine, but I feel as if something isn't right. As I head downstairs I see my mother sitting on the couch crying and my father comforting her. I ask my father “What’s wrong with mom?” and I get confronted

Getting out of mom’s Ford Ranger, I close the door a bit too heavy handed. When it slams forcefully, I cringe as I move toward the house. I am extra tired tonight after pulling double shift at the Inferno Recycling Center. It’s getting old that I always seem to be the one covering Chelsea’s shifts. This is the third time she has called in sick this week. There being virtually no other jobs in town, I have no choice then to suck it up. I was going to College to become a Special Effects Make-Up Artist. Since momma became sick three months ago, the only option I had was to drop out. There is no one else who can care for her except me. My beloved brother Eli died in a motorcycle accident nine years ago. He was twenty at the time. It was my eighth birthday the

As time slowly passed, the constant feeling of grief and guilt and rage that boiled in my stomach didn’t fade. I didn’t want it to. The awful feeling kept me grounded. It let me know that even though I no longer cared about school or the people who used to be my friends, I was still capable of feeling. It let me know that although I had stopped crying myself to sleep, I wasn’t mourning any

Lights shine in my eyes as my mom flickers the lights to wake me up. I knew the worst year of my life was about to start. Ms. Gulon is my first period of the day and then I won't have to deal with her the rest of the day. As I get dressed I put on a bright yellow t-shirt with dark blue jeans. I walk into the kitchen and put frozen waffles in the toaster. As I wait for them to be done I pack up my bag and make sure I am completely prepared for my morning class with Ms.Gulon. I eat my waffles and then my mom drives me to the school. I go to my locker and then walk around with my friends. A bell rings and I know what I am about to go through. I’ve dreaded this day since I got my schedule in July. Kids all over the town have stories about Ms.Gulon. Every single one is true. Parents think that their kids are overreacting when they say she nearly killed a girl or broke a guy's arm. It happens and

Introduction: It was just a standard Monday, little did I know my life would never be the same again. I tied my shoes, applied some makeup, got dressed for the day, and drove my black Mazda to school. I blasted my music on the radio to the point where I could feel the bass run through my body. I watched the rain droplets streak across my windscreen. The trees outside howled in the wind, dark heavy clouds filled the sky.

As I was getting in the car I felt like I had lead feet, and on the way to school my mom drove so fast I couldn’t even see the trees as we passed them. We reached the school and as I walked in the heavy front doors to the loud hallways, my stomach was churning. I kept my head down the whole way to my locker, trying to block out the noises from all the other kids reuniting with their friends. The morning of boring classes went by slowly and finally the bell rang for lunch.

My family was nowhere to be found. I rummaged frantically through the debris as I was tormented by terrified thoughts that rushed through my head like a raging hurricane. Those screams had belonged to the people surrounding me, but a new terrified scream wafted by my ears, and i realized that this one had erupted from my own clogged-up throat. My vision blurred as my eyes pooled up with moisture, and streams of tears cascaded down my squalid cheeks. I could do anything for this to be over, for all of it to be over. The dreams. The visions. Everything. I wished for an end, and escape: I couldnt take this anymore.

Everything was spinning around and around me, as I stood in front of the mirror watching the cold, stale tears full of regret and sadness drip downing onto the stiff new sweatshirt I got earlier that day. I could hear the words floating from the phone into my ear but it sounded as if it was a million miles away and I was underwater. I could hear Mom try to calm my nerves and try to wipe my tears from six hundred miles away but it was all for nothing. I could smell the saltiness of the tears and feel the sliminess of the snot that was a stream from my nose. I wiped away the stinging tears, filled with a new sense of rage.

I ran upstairs to my plum colored room decorated with posters of my favorite bands and singers. It represents the dork/ geek side of me while my presence shows the girly side of me. My messy bed stood inches from me and I flopped down onto it. It had been a long, tiring day, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop thinking about Henry and how I can’t wait to finally exterminate his bullying act. Everyone knows that his dad hurts him and treats him terribly, but no one could bring themselves to feel sorry because of all the crap he’s done. Everybody is afraid to stand up to him, but my friends and I are strong and could no longer deal with him. Plus, he bet us twenty bucks that we couldn’t go to the intimidating house on Sycamore Street and come out of it okay.

“Can you take me to the mall when I get out of school?” “Nope” said my older brother. I turned around “Mom can we go rent the new spider man movie from blockbuster later today?” She says “Sweetie can it wait until I get off the phone? I’m trying to set up this lunch meeting”. I sat in the kitchen in a daze wishing to get some type of attention before I headed off to school in the morning. I went to get my backpack from my room; my eyes looked as if a tornado hit my room, everything was a mess.

The warmth of the fire consumed me as I sipped my hot chocolate. I glanced at my best friend Avery laughing at someone that I couldn’t quite make out. Suddenly, I heard glass shatter. I quickly sat up in my bed sighing as I looked at myself in the mirror. I felt the cold tear running down my cheek. I rolled out of bed and looked out at the grey clouds, hiding what could have been a sunny day. I looked down at my smokey black boots as I walked down the steep, marble staircase. I unobtrusively pulled back my hair hoping my father wouldn’t notice I was awake. I crept over to the door, slowly turned the knob and walked out the door. Chills ran down my spine every time I turned back hoping that I wouldn’t see the shaggy figure standing behind me. My walk turned into a sprint when the yellow bus pulled up. My frown faded into a grand smile when I saw everyone’s attention turn towards me. I walked over, I felt myself change. I went from being uneasy, scared and tense to being the bubbly, intelligent girl that everyone thought I was.

The lock clicked, and the small door opened easily. Inside was a large stack of crisp hundred- dollar bills, bound by a paperclip. I slipped out a few and put the rest back. They would not be missed. I reeked as much havoc as I could, shuffling carefully stacked files, hiding the bills and stealing the unread mail. Before I left, I wrote a message on the wall in black ink. 1-11-0. Then I smashed the jar of ink on the carpet and fled hastily back to my room, locking the door behind me. I took the trunk from under my bed and looked around. This was it. I was finally leaving. I grabbed a worn leather jacket from my closet, holding it to my face to smell. Yes, I could still smell Jordan on it, of woodsmoke and pine, of the forest where he spent his free time. Jordan was like a migraine. It was always there, just came back like shards of glass and pierced your mind at the most inconvenient of times. If Jordan was a migraine, he was the most beautiful one I 'd ever experienced. Pulling his jacket away, I cursed myself for getting wrapped up in sentiments. I slipped it on and grabbed the trunk again. I was ready. I climbed out the window and onto the balcony. Our house was huge, a mansion, you might say. There was a sloping roof under the balcony, and I climbed tediously onto it, my feet slipping on the shingles. I inched my way down to the edge of the roof. Then I jumped into the manicured hedge below. I suppose I should have given

At this moment in my life I thought maybe...maybe I don’t need to lIve I mean everyone puts me down everyone makes me feel lIke I don’t really belong. So I was havIng suIcIde thoughts and when those thoughts were In my head I was lIke thInkIng I mean my dad left me when I was 4 months old and has been In and out of my lIfe sInce I was 3 years old . I’m goIng to kIll myself today because people put me down or because I don’t feel loved. Well I just kept sayIng that for weeks and weeks untIl I fInally had a talk wIth two of the teachers at my school Mrs. AtkInson and Mrs. Cobb.