Jaby Morgan Narrative

On September 19, 1999 Jacqueline Saburido’s life was changed forever. Jacqui’s story is an effective testament about how drunk driving can not only kill people but can also scar and disfigure someone for life. The moral being conveyed in her story is to never drink and drive. It is not worth risking your life, someone else’s life, or putting anyone at risk of lifelong challenges, trauma and injuries. The story presents this message with startlingly graphic images of a young student who was faced with these dilemmas. A portion of the story shows images of how Jacqueline looks now, after the incident. The story shows a comparison with other images that show how she looked before the accident. Her story suggests that not everyone dies from these

The sky is shifting from a pure shade of black to a deep purple and before finally fading to a luminous shade of pale blue. The stars flicker out one by one, dozens vanishing in the span of a breath. I have always liked this time of morning because it is slow. The normal day light hours move too fast, too hurried, it is almost impossible to find time to take a breath, but at this time of day everything is still, it is easy to breathe, and for a few short minutes the universe is at peace. Upstairs I hear my grandmother rummaging around the kitchen and garage, moving pots and pans, raiding the refrigerators and pacing around. She is fixated on cleaning the frog’s tank, and she will not rest until her task is done. She cannot, that is not her

As Cole Johnston's alarm went off at 6:30am he started his day off as usual and went down to the courtyard and started to Sketch the big old oak tree in the middle of the courtyard. As usual he sketched for a hour and a half,but something didn't feel right,he looked at his phone and saw it was 8:45. He was 50 minuets late to history,his teacher told that if he was even 3 seconds late for history,he would have detention for the rest of the week.

As the Smiths drove down that mile long driveway, they knew they’d never be the same again. It was the summer of 1984, Mr. Smith was offered a teaching position at the University of Georgia and was bringing his family along. Two weeks before starting their jobs and school, they bought the perfect home. It was a big, beautiful old plantation home for a steal.

It’s a bright Friday morning, and Sean Johnson is just starting to wake up. Sean Johnson is the number one ranked basketball player in the country and has a lot of colleges offering him full ride scholarships to play basketball for free at their fine universities. He gets and the first thing he does is head to the bathroom and takes a quick shower and brush his teeth cause he has to head to school in the next forty five minutes. His mom yells “hey honey breakfast is about to be ready so come down soon you don’t want to miss breakfast again cause you are running late to school” Sean couldn’t hear his mother due to him being in the shower after a few minutes goes by his mother starts getting kind of angry so she calls his little brother Marcus to go get him so he won’t be late “Marcus go get your brother for me before I have to knock him upside his head. Marcus said “yes mom” with a huge smile on his face from laughing he walks down the hallway to get his big brother but the door is locked, Marcus starts knocking but he doesn’t get a respond until finally his big brother Sean finally got out of the shower and hears someone knocking at the door and yells

Well, where to begin to tell you my story. Oh! Let’s start with the old recordings that show how it all began.

“I’ve told you a hundred times already you’re not getting a gun!” Mary scolded Morgan, her face reddening, and her eyes narrowing in frustration at having to repeat herself to him over and over again. She then dropped her Marlboro to the ground extinguishing it under her foot. “You see that, that’s what I think of your hopes of you ever get your hands on a firearm are. There’s all your hopes, squashed under my foot.” She continued bitterly as she ground the cigarette butt further into the pavement for dramatic emphasis.

The bright sun was beginning to sleep as different shades of red and oranges begin to form and mix into new bright colors into the late afternoon sky. The sun seem to be using it colors to wrap New york into a tight warm hug before it goes into her deep slumber.

It was a sunny and hot day outside and we were getting ready to go out for recess. I was sitting at my desk waiting for my teacher to tell us to line up. As she told us it was time we all ran to be first in line for going outside. When we got outside I wanted to play football and so did a few other kids. We had 7 people and we needed one more person to make it fair. There was only one other kid that could play and his name was Jack. Jack was a new kid who didn’t really have friends and wasn’t very coordinated, so when we asked him, he was hesitant on his answer but said yes. We had to teach him a bit about how to play, but he new some of it. Jack was on my team and the other team kicked off first. When we tried to return it, Jack just stood

He sticks a Scooby-doo Band-Aid on my arms and then gives me a forced smile. He is also a victim of Chemanium.

Omg! When I was five years old I had A imaginary friend his name was John smith but only I could see him. However, I managed to drive my family crazy by his presence especially my older brother as John smiths maned astatine occurred when he was around. My grandmother had the job of picking me up my brother and I unruly kids after school. It was started by making sure no one sat on John smith in the backseat this would escalate to a crying and screaming match some days my brother would have to sit up front due to invading John smiths space. This doesn't sound like much was very disrupted for anyone who came in contact with John smith. John smith had a sister that did not live with him and attended another school. I would make my grandmother

Although Honey Harlow was awake, she waited a full five minutes before she opened her crystal blue eyes. The warmth of the morning sun had drawn her from eight hours of restful slumber. She tried to ignore the bright beam of light, which had slipped through the sheer silver curtain of her bedroom window, but like a beacon, it insisted upon making direct contact with her eyes. It danced without mercy across her slightly freckled face as she propped herself up against the ash-colored button tufted headboard. After she took a deep breath and pushed several locks of long honey blonde hair behind her ears, she heard a knock at her door.

I open my eyes slowly. My heads spinning and I'm in pain everywhere. It doesn't take more than half a second to know for a fact that I'm not in my house anymore. Instead, I'm in a huge room, which after looking around, I figured out is a classroom. It's bright due to the fact that one of the windows nearby is wide open. The room is basically empty except for two wall sized chalkboards that were littered with words. One seemed full of names of rival gangs. Block B being one of them. The other one was full of other names. I spotted my own name among them. It had me concerned, but no more concerned then the guy named Jiho, whose name was crossed out, probably with a sharp nail or knife. Guess that guy must be public enemy number one to

Once upon a time there lived a lanky little rat named Rudy. Rudy’s fur was very dull and felt like needles. She lived in a tiny village where all the animals knew each other. Every afternoon she would meet with her friends at the riverbank to tell stories of their morning. One day Rudy scurried to the riverbank excited to share with her friends a cheesecake she had baked just for them, but when she arrived at the meeting spot, no one was there. Worried and confused, Rudy hurried in to town to look for her friends there. Just as she reached the main road, her body froze as she watched the most beautiful creature strolling through town. Rudy looked around and noticed she was not the only animal in the village mesmerized by this beautiful

The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.