I Am A Man - Original Writing

On the eve of my twelfth birthday, my father sat me down to have a talk- He says, “Mary Amelia;” his using my full name and not what everyone usually calls me had me paying attention right away. “You’re my only daughter and you’re about to become a young woman. I don’t know much about what I, as a father, should tell you; however, with your momma gone, I feel it is my responsibility to say something in the way of trying to prepare you for womanhood…

Was I relieved that he was dead? Did I feel guilty because I didn’t save him? I stood staring across Bloody Ice, and perhaps it was wicked, but I told no one and was married to my sweetheart in a fortnight beside Bloody Ice. I was beautiful then, hair unbound and cheeks rosy in the cold. Gazing at blurry photographs, my children would sometimes ask why I did not smile or why my face was perpetually turned towards the lake’s faded red.

“If a man’s from Texas, he’ll tell you. If he’s not, why embarrass him by asking?” This quote by John Gunther, author of Inside U.S.A., reflects the pride I have for my great home state of Texas. Being a Texan means more than just saying one lives in Texas; it is the sense of opportunity and power, which promotes individualism and acts as the common identifier for all walks of life by instilling the feelings of belonging and pride. If presented with the decision to choose between being an American or Texan, one or the other, then my answer would be a quick ‘Texan’ as if that should even be a question.

I came to a halt. My hands were bloodied and bruised. I finally let out the tears, and it wasn’t because of the pain I inflicted on my hands. It was realisation of losing my friend. Maybe we would have been more than that, even- if he was alive. I heaved, I whimpered, I couldn’t breathe. I yelled in agony, my fists didn’t hurt like how my heart

Jason stepped forward and extended his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Birch. We can’t tell you how excited we are to have you here,” Jason said.

“Let men see, let them know, a real man, who lives as he was meant to live”.Francis loved Margaret but as we know she was using him and cheating on him. Francis didn’t know how to act like a man who can stand up for himself, and Francis lived the way he was meant. Although some may say that Francis isn’t a real man but he took care of his wife and loved her. Robert wilson is teaching Francis not to be scared and teaching him how to be a man .Robert Wilson would be the real man because he isn’t scared of anything, he is a professional hunter, he’s brave, and helpful. He best exemplifies the concept of being a man and showing francis how to be a man .He wants to teach Francis Macomber how to hunt for animals and not to get scared because the last time he went

My pain is so constant; my insides feel like they want to explode. Why? Because it’s my fault he died; it comes down to one thing, and that was it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility to stay by his side but mine, so I, and I alone failed him.

“Ok” Jason said. Adym went to go get Sawyer then Jason looked at me. “Pretty sexual there don’t you think” He said and sorta asked and walked to me.

"Is there a reason as to why you dragged me over here?.” Y/N whisper yelled. “I was expecting a hello but I’ll take what I can get,” Jason said with a smirk. You had this weird feeling in your stomach and the fact he was looking you dead in the eyes made it well worse. Usually, his eyes held little to no emotion but when he was with you it changed. You know exactly what he was thinking by just looking at him.

Jason Dwight couldn't sleep. he didn't know why. He tried everything. Hot milk, soft music, and even melatonin. But nothing worked. Minutes felt like hours, the moon was at its highest in the middle of the cold poorly lit night. The light that reflected off of the moon onto the snow shun in a sparkly glaze. Jason pacing back and forth in his room was certain it was almost 5 o'clock and to his surprise it was only midnight. Just only an hour ago his family had all said goodnight to each other. Jason sitting in his room noticed at how much his room involved pictures, which he didn't care, he loved it, ever since his grandfather had passed away he's always felt the need to take pictures of everything for memory. Through the dim light of the moon he saw his favorite picture of his parents and little sister. He walked over to where it was.

After coming back and digging myself out of an unmarked grave, memories come flooding back. It was not my fault, it was the two of them who doomed us and ultimately drove him to kill me. The memories are strong, I let them flow in like a stream. I remember tears fill my dead eyes, the bittersweet memory fills my head.

We looked at each other for a couple of seconds remembering how much fun we had before my mom died. My father killed my mother when I was 13. “Why? ‘Why would you end so many happy memories, and moms life?” “I didn’t” he spoke with anger in his usually soft and gentle voice. My father spoke calmly now asking what job I have and how my life has been. I slowly told him that “I am a detective trying to figure out who really killed mo.” His smile churned it too something much angrier, but yet sad.

You wiped the salty tears streaming down your cheeks as you stood outside the door. You knew the man inside would be more than happy to see you, though you didn't want him to see you in this state. However, who else could you turn to? He had been your friend since you both were little, running around the streets, laughing and shouting at the top of your lungs. He knew everything about you, all your secrets, all your worries. At this thought, you reached out and arm and brought your knuckles down three times upon the door. You sniffled and wiped your eyes again just as the door opened, revealing Namjoon. His eyes widened as he recognized you, a smile blooming as he said, "(Y/N)! It's so nice to see you!" Then he noticed the puffiness and redness of your eyes and face, and saw wet streaks down your cheeks. His face quickly changed to one of concern as he grabbed your arms gently and pulled you inside, closing the door behind you. "What is it?" He cried, looking into your eyes, his voice slightly panicked. You broke down and slid to the floor, and immediately Namjoon was at your side. He knelt on the floor with you, wrapping his arms around you and rocking you back and both, cooing to you as you sobbed. After a few minutes, he helped you to your feet and brought you inside his house, sitting with you on the couch. He grabbed a tissue and gently wiped your eyes, and then gave you another to blow your nose. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked quietly, rubbing your

She looks up and my sister 's face is the one that greets me. "Emma," I want to say "Em, what 's going on?" But my lips won 't move. No sound is heard throughout the room until I hear her voice "Why Alice! Why did you try to save me! Maybe you could have saved yourself!" Tears roll down her face as she stands walking to where I lay in my wooden coffin . She walks over to me and closes the case.

“Yes, we have been in contact. He has been apprised of the difficulties we may have with this Botticello woman. By the way he sends his love.” Jason lied.