Johnny's Dream: A Narrative Fiction

“So, he wouldn’t recognize shoes, or even if he did, he wouldn’t necessarily know how to tie them?” Joanne asked in amazement.

It's frightening, being lost and all alone. It is also a horrible thought of not knowing if you would ever make it back to civilization again. Sounds like some awful nightmare right? If only, for James this nightmare became a reality. Nevertheless, James overall is a sensible twenty-one-year-old, but in the past, he still made some half-witted decisions that had some mild consequences that followed.

He was born blessed with the most ravishing body and good looks. Born with his enduring looks; he was adored and admired by everyone, man, and women, young and old. Becoming the constant fixation of many others. He grew settled in the pool of admiration. Living in his own world, fixated only on himself, enjoying the attention and envy from others. He loved no one. He felt like no one will ever be worthy enough for him.

His character was able to voice the displeasures and optimisms of adults while simultaneously enchanting and expanding children’s imaginations.

Now older and less naive, the dark is a catacomb of panic. The night is now where men become monsters, and darkened streets are their nests. Where I used to dance under starlight, I now shy away from shadows and instead cling to lampposts. Hands clutched to my side ready for a defensive strike, I ask myself if I’ll become another statistic, or if the man on the other side of the street will become another name forgotten. I wonder how it is that something that started off so utterly whimsical twisted it’s shape into an unrecognizable cruelty. In day we laugh at fantastical oddities, and at night they suddenly become real. There’s no need for imaginary horrors, they take the shape of man and women and go by the names of Adam and Eve. The point is we’re the monsters, we’re the scary things that lurk in the dark. We are

It was now morning and Johnny and Ma were having breakfast. Nobody was speaking to each other. Until Johnny told his mom all about last night. “You WHAT?! yelled Ma. “There is no way that you saw your father last night, Johnny! Your father is dead and he is NOT coming back to see you. Why would you even THINK of making something up like that?” Exclaimed Ma. That hurt Johnny’s feelings, plus that made him furious. He could feel the anger slowly growing in his body. Ma saw the anger in his eyes. So he got up and ran outside out of anger.

We retired to our motel at 2:30 that night, the time at the club had all but disappeared, gone in the trance of the woman’s dancing. We slept late that morning, it was almost noon when we awoke, groggy and hungover. The lobby served breakfast, bland and cold. Each sip of the tepid, acidic coffee required more labor than it was worth, and we left unsatisfied. Jack grunted as he pushed on the exterior door, and grimaced at the slice of sunlight that split his face in two.

"I am so sorry that I hurt that person," I said, "I did not mean to hurt anyone!" "You must

“It was painful, cold, we were hungry, and thirsty.” My father said to me. I can’t ever imagine what it’s like to cross a desert by foot, and swim across an arm of the sea. My older brother was two years old when they crossed, my mother was 5 months pregnant, with me, and my father was the “head runner”.

In Eric Tribunella’s essay “Narrative Loss and the Melancholic Reader of Johnny Tremain”, the concept of failure is one of Tribunella’s main focal points throughout the essay about Esther Forbes’ Johnny Tremain. Tribunella argues that these failures are present because the novel lacks climax throughout the essay’s entirety and without this climax there is no sense of closure in the most climatic events. One particular failure that Tribunella mentions in his essay is the failure of love triangles in the novel. Tribunella argues that there are three love triangles in Johnny Tremain but none of these are fulfilled with a “bang”. Instead each one of these love triangles slowly fizzles out throughout the novel. The love triangles that are found in Forbes’ Johnny Tremain are not those that represent an epic romance but instead they represent those of a childhood crush. These representations can be found in each one of the love triangles that Tribunella argues that is present in the novel.

Everyone has a passion or dream that they would give anything to accomplish. I have a passion and an unstoppable drive help people. I am also a very social persona and talk to just about everyone the crosses my path. These two characteristics pretty much set the stage for my decision and give me an advantage in pursuing this career. 1.Those are my reasons for pursuing physical therapy and will serve as my fuel until I reach my goal.

I walk up with a start sweating heavily and breathing hard. I look over at my sister to make sure she was alright, I then let out the breath I was holding "thank god it was just a bad dream". The clock on the bed side table reads 4:00, great might as well just start getting ready. I then head to the bathroom to do my morning routine and take a shower. After I was done with everything in the bathroom the clock reads 5:30 so I decide just to wake up my sister. I nudge her and all she does is rolls over, so I then pulled her blanket off of her and she whispers "five more minutes", I just laugh and pull her off the bed, she then starts yelling at me so I take that as the sign to leave the room and see if my parents are up.

On the day of February 21, 2003, a woman named Eleanor Quincy gave birth to a loving child named Alexa Quincy. She was a unique child growing up and never did anything wrong. When she was 5, she was really shy and just read books all day. She really had a great childhood growing up with her parents, but that changed when she turned 14 years old. Her dad Davis got a new job as a mechanic when she was 13, but he was going to get stationed in Ohio. He was confirmed of the job on her birthday. The next day, Davis sat down with his family and told them the terrifying news. Alexa stood up and shouted while crying, “Why do we have to move during the school year? You know I am

Drenched, sodden, the boy awoke to the resonating drone of distant creatures, lurking within the foreign woodlands. Dawn had broken out like a bleeding wound. Thick clouds scudded the stricken sky as the sun receded into the darkness, blotting the glimmer of the ominous moon. He felt his way around the hard mattress, doused in a wet, sticky substance, before averting his gaze to a window. The room was decrepit. Dusty, run-down walls which hadn’t been maintained for ages. Beyond the crooked window, lay a vast overlay of trees, subtly swaying to the tune of the night breeze.

My husband's arrival at St. Anthony Grammar school of the Roman Catholic Mission in Nigeria, began the worst time of his twelve-year-old life-or that's what he thought at the time. But now Ben appreciates his memories of the death of his father at nine years of age, his boyhood days, the birth of America dream, and the fulfillment of the dream.