I Feed-Personal Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

A splash of cold water hit Kelly’s face with a jolt. It felt good, reminded her that she was still alive. The bathroom tile felt cool to the touch, and she placed my wet palms on the counter for balance. A thin raised line etched down her finger, and she wondered how long the scar would last. It was ugly. A constant reminder of the past year. How could a single year of a person’s life leave such scars? But it wasn’t the surface wounds she was worried about; it was the deeper kind. The permanent kind.

When I was in third grade my teacher assigned us to write a book titled “All About Me” and just about every word was spelled incorrectly. I remember my teacher reading it and asking what word I was trying to spell out and I got upset. I felt like I could not spell anything I was trying to write, put things into the right words, or into the correct order. However, in seventh grade my writing changed when my English teacher assigned us a paper to write about a book the class was assigned to read. My writing had improved, but still had its problems. My English teacher always told me that there is no such thing as a perfect paper. After he read my rough draft, he handed it back to me and there were red marks all over it, so I went home and fixed

Sybil looked down and saw her miniature arms twisted tightly and caught in a shirt she had been putting on. Her mouth was wet with vodka. No, not vodka. How would she know the taste of that? This taste was iron-filled and bitter. It was blood, and it dribbled down her chin. Her voice squeaked and cracked as she sputtered out her words quickly.

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

The moment Skyler's blood touched her tongue Adriana was lost. The sweet nectar that flowed through her lovers veins washed over every sense the old vampire had. She drank deeply as the warmth washed through every inch of her body. It was the first time in ages Adriana had felt such heat coursing through her veins. Her lover, her wolf tasted like madness and haven all at the same time.

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

The pain was overpowering, but I couldn't let it take hold. I couldn't let it bury me. My thoughts were racing, but I had to make it go away. I couldn't let it break

The worst night came after my mom left us. Why she didn’t take me, I’ll never understand. It was almost as if she’d left me for dead; the result of her absence had an obvious consequence. I wish I didn’t have to take her place, but I did, and now I know how his words feel, stabbing you repeatedly. I know how his hands feel, leaving imprints on my face. I know how her

It's been an interesting year so far, and it looks like it is about to get even more interesting (more about that in a moment). What I wanted to write about in this here journal of mine is a new brand of shoe that I just purchased; they are called Nike running shoes, and I love them. They fit well, are comfortable and seem like they will last quite a while. I just had to have a pair (I think I'm the first one here at school to have them most of the other students have never even heard of them; Neanderthals, I know!). I predict they will be a big hit in the future. Okay, enough about shoes, let's move on to more serious matters, my love life! (just joking journal I have no love life right now). Oh well, I haven't written in here for the past few weeks, I guess I better talk about the events of the month. Let's see, it's October 1962 and a number of events have taken place; some here at the University of Mississippi, some in the United States and some internationally. Many of these events will likely have long-term impact on some very serious matters. Of course, I did not think any event would foreshadow James Meredith being admitted into the University, but, the first Negro being admitted into a higher education institution is an event that has only national implications, while the missile crisis in Cuba, could lead to death to thousands or even hundreds of thousands of citizens in both the United States and in Russia.

“Fine,” she looked up as a man with a scar running down his cheek smiled sinisterly. She didn’t trust him, she moved to try to get out of his reach but he pulled his arm out. Her eyes widened in horror as his fist came forward, she had stopped crying, watching the fist as if it was coming at her slowly. When it hit her face she barely registered it, it didn’t hurt, only stung and sent a shock through her body. Another fist came, then another. Her vision was going blurry, she heard them say something but she couldn’t make out what it was as her body fell limp against the seat and her eyes shut, unable to handle the pain in her

‘They hurt me. So I hurt them’ I said, emotionless, letting my feelings run out like a tap. My head was clear, dangerous. Objects became distorted. Clarice’s face became white. Her heart was a gunshot, piercing my ears with bullets. She waved her arms about and shook her head as if she was trying to will out the memories, the words, the actions.

The remorse grey morning awaited. I never knew one person could have such an impact on my life, as well as everyone else’s lives. I always thought everything was just a beautiful fantasy land where everything was perfect. Waterfall coming out of everyone's eyes filled my imagination of what one man can do to a crowd. I asked myself one question, “Why him, why does it have to be him”. The emotions, pouring out of meand I knew the fall of 2006 was gonna be bad.

The surgery recovery would not be instant after the extensive repair to Jarrod’s damaged knee. He’d planned to meet Alana that night and recite the poem he was writing for her, but while recovering, his language changed. His sentiments detoured to self-pity and his heart bled in his journal.

Think of your favorite thing in the world to do. Something that defines you. Something that you can only experience from your eyes. For me it is soccer, and through that came a rite of passage that will be with me forever.