Hi Peter-Personal Narrative

As I walked outside the morning of August 12th I noticed the clouds in the distance, they were dark and ominous; I couldn’t avoid feeling as though this was a bad sign of what was to come. Then I thought, “Just my luck, I have to drive on the interstate and it’s going to storm!” There was no getting out of this though, I had to leave, so I got into my car and started driving. Pulling onto the interstate it seemed as though I was heading right into the storm, it somehow had lined up perfectly with the road. The closer I got, it suddenly hit me, the metaphor wasn’t one of bad things to come, but of the step I was about to take in life. I didn’t know what was going to happen, just that I had to keep going. Everything in my life up to this point

I stare at the TV with incomplete fascination, my pencil tightly gripped in between my fingers.

I didn’t really know him very well but he was still my dad. I feel like I should feel bad for him or be crying but I’m not, not at all. He was killed at about midnight. The murder stole some important papers about my mom. I never knew her and my dad never talked about her, she died in a car accident when I was still very young. That was why I wanted those papers back. My dad never showed me any pictures but I knew that all kinds of things where on those papers. The police figured that my dad startled the thief and as a result my dad was now dead. Now I’m moved into my aunt’s house until they can find another place for me. I’m not alone though, my maid got to come with me. It is a relief to have something of my old life with me. I have a feeling

never would have thought one girl could change me so much. I was a “bible thumping” kid with a purity ring and she was a shy girl with enough beauty to stop someone’s heart with a single glance. I guess one could say I fell in “love”.

Wake up, get to school, go home, repeat. Wake up, get to school, go home, repeat. Wake up, get to school, go home, repeat.

I awoke with my head clouded with images of failure. My dad, beating me with a stick for not going out to get milk. My mother, hitting me across the head with her hand yelling at me for not making friends. My parents were very strict when it came to my studies, social life, and chores. They made sure I was taught right and how to impress girls for my 16th birthday, when I would choose a wife, but I had no business in doing so. I was 11 and my parents were already getting ready for my wedding.

I spoke to Megann last Wednesday and she informed me to edit my resume as per our phone call. I have edited my resume as per her suggestions and sent it back to her Thursday.

I’d like to say good afternoon, (or whatever time of the day it is), basically I just want to explain myself a little bit; just the part why I am so nice. If you really do not care it is alright with me, just stop reading here, I completely understand if you do. To get back on topic, let’s start with one of the biggest misconceptions, the reason why I’m so nice. It is simply because it’s the way I was raised. I was told to be nice to mostly everyone, due to the fact that you don’t know what is going on in their life. The other reason is that I hate seeing others having a bad day. It’s just my personality. I’m not being nice because I think your daughter is a “catch”, I’m being nice because it’s just the way I am. Then the other side

It was a bitter autumn day in upper town New York and on top of Times Tower, perched a girl her long auburn hair was dancing like the shadows of trees in the dusk of a windy day. She sat inhaling the thick, grey smoke from her cigarette, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her thick black eyeliner was smudged, but even that could not disguise the wisdom she hid behind her eyes. Deep in the pockets of her long, black trench coat her phone started to ring. She snatched out the phone, glanced at the screen and groaned. She knew it would be the same call she had received every school day at 6:30, for the past 10 months.

As Martin steps one foot into a misty but shimmery hole in his room wall, he begins to feel a warm familiar sensation. He is tempted to leave his cold and weary life behind. The next foot is in and there is no sign of Martin inside of his room.

Once upon a time, on a small town called Smallville, there was a boy named Ej. He was just a normal boy that went to school, hung out in his barn to think and looked on his telescope to look up at stars. One night outside of his house, he lays down on the wide open field with the grass swaying with the wind. He looks up to the stars and says to himself "What if I could make the world a better place?" Right after he says that, he sees a rapid, giant red ball coming down from the sky. He was too mesmerized to move. It came closer and closer to him until it finally hit him. Everything went black.

At the sudden ringing of the school bell, Yuyuki quietly stood up with the rest of her class and faced the front of the classroom and bowed, following the teacher's example. She stuffed the test paper she was handed back into her book bag and prepared to leave when a couple of her classmates tapped her on the way out.

My eyes shoot open, blood rushes through my veins, a harsh ring pierces my ears, adrenaline jumpstarts my nervous system. Catapulting out of bed, feet crash onto the wood floor with a resounding thud, vibrations shoot up my legs. Intent on murdering my morning nemesis, I take aim at the blaring red-eyed demon sitting next to the fan. Striking with a swift click of the on/off switch, I end the incessant blare of my alarm. "6:15, Monday, not late." A relieved sigh escapes my lips, gaze shifting to my dresser. My anxiety calms quickly, and I notice the cold wooden floor nips at my toes.

I had scene him around at church, knew his face and his name but not him. I saw him playing guitar after school and thought he was cool, that's all I knew. Then I met him. He and my Friend had just broke up, I didnt even know they were dating. D and I had just walked down to the youth center for second service, she was talking to me about there break up and interdiced me. He hugged her and gave me his dorky high five -knuckles and I was over washed with emotions. Butterflies. Lust. Excitement. Confusion. Denial. And over all guilt. I couldn't like him!

What makes a person who they are? The way they dress? Their family? Friends? Attitude? To me, what really makes a person who they are, is their experiences. Their hardships, triumphs, what makes them happy, what devastates them. We all are human beings and are made so similar. With sharing so many things in common, we are all such different people. Everything we have all gone through, shapes us into who we are today; Why we are the way we are.