Jeremy Dunlead: A Short Story

It was love. Genuine love. It was something that neither of us had ever expected, nor experienced in for a while with either sex. He had seen the affection in my eyes and had reflected it right back at me. We gazed in shock for a few long minutes, seeing one another lovingly. I ended the

When I was a child, most of the stories or situations I have been through was, mostly, my dad hitting me and my parents fighting constantly; so pretty much I did not really grew up watching Barney, traveling to places, and going to Disneyland often. I thought I would have to live like this for the rest of my academic life, but one day around the age of eight, my dream came true. My parents had enough of each other, so they went their own ways; even though, I was glad that I do not have to life miserably anymore, I was not. I thought that everything would settle down and live a calm life with my mom, but as a result, I ended up raising my two siblings. My dad left the house, my mom was in her own world, and I had to watch my siblings. I thought my parents divorce would benefit me, but all it did was for me to not live as an eight-year-old would. I thought that my dream of going to a great university and becoming a Physician Assistant came crashing down. A couple weeks later, my dad came back and long-story short, my siblings and I had to go hang out with my dad for

The emotional abuse that I have suffered through cannot be consigned into words. I believe the worst part of it all was never being enough for my father; I was never a good enough reason for my father to quit drinking. The abundant of support that we gave him wasn’t enough for him. All that agony has made me into the persistent and self-reliant man that I am today. From my dad’s experiences, it made me realize that he’s the type of person I don’t want to be. His disease made me able to find the many benefits of being raised by an alcoholic

On a Sunday morning of March 15 1998, we woke up super early to the phone ringing on the other side was my dad. My grandmother answered the phone her face paled as she heard the words “mom I shot myself.” After talking to him for a bit my grandmother rushed out of her room to get my uncle up and they rushed to the house to see him up walking around with a hole in his stomach. Ambulance came to get him then rushed him to meet life force. He flat lined once on the helicopter. They were able to bring him back and stabilized him, and kept him stabled till they got to the hospital. They rushed him immediately into the OR, it was around 15 to 20 minutes into surgery that he had passed away, they were unable to bring him back due to the major loss of blood. My mom soon remarried and I gained two annoying step brothers and a step dad. One step brother didn’t bother me to bad, the other one poked and picked on me trying to pick fights. My step dad had episodes where he was violent and threw things at me and my mom. I withdrew more and more until a few of my friends literally grabbed me by my arm and told me to wake up that they were not going to let me push them away

I was panicking I didn’t know what I did I thought I was in some kind of trouble, but when I got to the principal’s office, there were 2-3 police officers there waiting for me. They sat me down with a concerned look and told me some terrible news. These few words that I could never get out of my head. It’s as if there locked in a prison. They told me that my father was in an accident at first I thought that they were just talking about a car accident. I had no idea what to expect. Then they told me that my father had passed away I started balling my eyes out I didn’t know what to do. They soon drove me back to my house where I saw my brother and a few neighbors and friends. There were a few cop cars and an ambulance. I later found out that he had committed suicide. My aunt and uncle came and picked us up from my house and brought us to their house where they tried to cheer us up a bit it was my cousins birthday so we tried to have a

We thought we would be ok because our other teachers did not care before. But, our teacher opened the door and looked very angry. I was surprised because I thought she would not care at all. She made me stand up and started rebuking me for being outside. Even though many of us were outside the class, she only called on me and I felt like she targeted me. Her voice was high and her eyes were sharp, making me bend my head to hide my tears. I could not stop myself from crying and the tears ran down my face and chin and everyone could tell that I was crying, even though I tried to hide it. I felt very insignificant like I had lost all self-worth. In fact, this is the first time I was insulted by a teacher, which made me upset and ashamed to look at her or my classmates. I was so embarrassed to be the center of attention. At that moment, I did not see anyone and I did not hear anything. It was like I was in a dark room, like a guilty person, a disrespectful person. It was a bad attitude that I cannot forget. I was so scared and sad during the class that I could not pay attention. I just sat and listened the best I

Jeremy Johnson had always knew he didn’t belong in unkempt Agrestic with its uneducated residents and a high murder rate. Although he had to live in such awful conditions he defied the typical poor black high school stereotype and excelled in school, was caption of his school’s basketball team, and volunteered at his local youth group. All he wanted was to complete his senior year and get out of the town with his scholarship to Howard University, but he couldn’t graduate without doing one thing first. Helping Lydia. He knew his sister was heading down a life-threatening path and he’d do anything to help her.

I’m not much of a complainer, but if we’re all comparing sob stories and tales of unfortunate events, I think I’d have an early lead. Born in California to two Guatemalan parents, my first obstacle I had to overcome was… my own birth. When I was still in my nine-month solitary, my mom was told that the best course of action for her was to abort me. Apparently the doctors had found all sorts of things that seemed to place me at the risk of physical deformities or mental impairments. Now, I wouldn’t be writing if my parents had gone that route, so let’s look behind door number two. Growing in Christian faith, my parents both prayed constantly all while

The most traumatic event in my life was when my father passed away in 2005, when I was only seven. At first, I hadn’t understood his death. I knew what death was, and that it was permanent, but I hadn’t accepted the fact that he was gone until long after his death. My mother was a mess, and I was a confused second grader who could do nothing to help her. We began to go to counselors and psychologists, who all made me feel very uncomfortable. All they wanted was to talk about what had happened to my dad, when it was the last thing I wanted to say anything about. I laid in bed crying for a few weeks, knowing it was because of his death, but I felt emptiness rather than sadness or anger. My mother began to take medication for depression, and still continues to do so. At only seven, I believed her sadness was my fault. To be honest, I still feel hurt when I see her taking the depression medication. I know that I had nothing to do with his death, but it granted me with an unwelcoming sense of guilt. I had just been with him the night before his death, and now he had been cremated into a bag of ashes. All of my teachers were very precautious about mentioning him, and I didn’t know how to process all the new attention I had received at school. I was definitely depressed, but I found a way out of my slump. I distracted myself from his death and did all of my school work from my absences as quickly as I could, and

When I was 11 years old, my father died. Not knowing what to do with that reality and the emotions that came with it, I turned to my mother. My mother has always been my rock, so I was confident that she would put this entire situation into perspective. She explained to me how my dad had been sick for a while, and how god did not want to see him suffer any longer, so he called my father home. When I attended the funeral, it occurred to me that this would be the last time I would see my father. As the time of grieving progressed, I grew unmotivated, uninterested, and depressed. In middle school, I joined an after school program called Teen Hype. Teen Hypes's goal was to empower youth to be their very best self. After joining this program, my

It was probably one of the worst times of my life. Going to school, seeing him and everyone that had laughed at me, hurt more and more every single day. News spread like wildfire through the school, and mostly everyone at the school had heard what happened within two days. There was a point where I couldn’t take it anymore; I wanted it all to end, the pain, the laughs, etc. I just did not want to go on anymore.

Everyone has a story. The goal of my life story is to inspire hope, and show the way God breathed into me. I was born in West Palm, Florida. At six months of pregnancy my mother was checked into St. Mary's hospital, and gave birth to three pound, two ounce baby. Despite the expectation of giving birth to a female baby, she gave birth to a baby boy. She intended to name her baby Victoria, after the baby's grandmother on his father’s side. Instead she came to the name Victor after realizing the baby's gender. So there I was, on July 1, 1997 at seven-thirty in the morning. The third child to be borne by my mother, I was the youngest of the family. I was blessed with two older brothers, Paul and Santos (Danny). My mother raised us in Clewiston,

comes back full force. My straight A’s start to drop to D’s and E’s, I quit all my after-school activities, stopped talking to everyone, and started to skip school almost everyday. I had always struggled with depression, but it had never been this bad before, I felt like I was drowning and she was pulling me down with her. I struggled a lot with my depression, I had to go to the emergency room twice during the school year for suicide attempts, I just wanted to give up on everything. During this time things kept getting worse and worse, tension kept on building between my mom and me and I still hadn't seen my dad. I remember that night so clearly as if it was yesterday. My mom and I had been arguing all day, We were in my room and kept on arguing

It all started the summer before my freshman year of highschool. I was estacic about going back to school, which was not very usual for me. However, I was finally a highshcooler! This was a huge step in my life. I could finally go to homecoming, find out who my real friends were, and eventually learn how to drive. I considered myself one of the more "popular" people, which I found a huge deal if your a freshman in highschool. I had a ton of friends and played almost every sport there was. I honestly could not have been happier. At this time in my life I felt as if I was on top of the world, highschool was going to be a breeze and before I knew it I would be going to be at Michigan State University. That was until I found myself on the floor of my bedroom, curled up in a ball while the ocean poured out of my eyes the day before I was suppposed to start school. I had never felt such a horrid pain in my life. I could not breath, nobody was home, and my only thoughts at the time were that my last minutes were going to be on the fuzzy white rug in the middle of the cold

Never had I ever thought that in what seemed to be a safe and diverse school, they would have such cruel, ignorant and heartless people. A place where I was bullied by 5th grade year by my own classmates, the people that I thought I could trust. It broke my heart when I got the news on the same day that I was being called a lesbian that my father could have passed away from a serious incident. My father would always pick me up from school, until that day, I waited for a while until the school police officer took me home. For a second I thought he might have just stayed at work to work overtime. In my head, I was just uncontrollably making up theories as to what could have happened to my father. Hours passed and still no sign of him, my mother