Leaving Me Narrative

Little by little, as months passed by thousand miles away from home, I realized my mother was right. She told me once, “No matter where you are or no matter what you do, always look back from where you came from”. I did not understand her. I was in a fury. “I am not looking back neither do I want to go back from where I came from.”

Considering me and my family came from a country, now known with its war and its endless revolution, we got used to hearing bad news about it every other day. We came from Syria, which was a beautiful place to live in before the revolution started. Most of my friends had to leave it because they don't have a place to live in anymore, their house have been destroyed. But for us, we lived in a safe area and our house is still there sheltering our cousins who didn’t leave their country.

Your home country is all that you know -- it’s where you were raised, where you’ve loved, and where you’ve lived all your years. So what happens when one day, without warning, or without cause, that sense of security is ripped from you? War, violence, persecution for who you are or what you believe; your home has become the crucible for your greatest fears, a place you no longer recognize. You’re afraid for your life, for your family -- you don’t know where to go but you know you can’t stay. You and your family are forced to flee into an unknown future and the unknown peril it may hold.

I would stay alert all night sometimes. Every gust of wind or howl of our neighborhood dogs would send shivers through my spine. Throughout the nights I could hear whispers. I could never make out words except for this night. (I was half asleep when) I heard it say “Let me out” I opened my eyes and I was in front of the basement door. BANG. “LET ME OUT!” I got up and ran to my room locking the door behind me. I was breathing heavy by the time I got to my room. Looking at my hands, I realized they were covered in salt. There had been salt surrounding the door to the basement.(I had never realized that there was salt that surrounded the door.)After that The month slowly passed by without even a sound from her. People prepared for upcoming Halloween. Pumpkins were carved and set out in the front of people’s houses as people prepared for this week, Halloween. A loud bang i heard chains fall against the stairs along with soft foot steps ( I brought a flashlight to talk to her then her I could see her cold black eye through the

nia. I’ve been in and lived in many different states, so moving isn't new to me, it's been apart of my entire life. This one was different, especially with 2 toddlers that aren't potty trained. Now, it's time to get ready for a 4 day ride across country.

The cold winter breeze is penetrating my skin; I feel the chill in my bones and start to shiver out of control. As I am lying down in the lawn of my home, all I can see is parts of the garden in the moonlight. I gather my last bit of strength and get up to knock the front door of my home again. There is still no response from my father. Hunger is driving my actions as I try to break-in and fail again and again. With no other options left I decide to go break the window near the door with a stone and try to open the door from the inside. After breaking the window, I can see my mother is still lying down in the floor and I try shouting to wake her up. There is no response from her at all. I feel the dizziness spreading in my head. As I try to unlock the door through the window opening, I feel the lights shutting down inside me and I fall down to the

Yours truly have some extremely strong feeling, trying to replicate back to my earliest childhood memory of my life, my first version was describing the setting that of my father hitting my mother over the head with something. Now, I personally know it was a gun. She was lying in a pool of blood in front of the fireplace with, me by her side trying to wait her up, then going outside crying subsequently my, grandmother could hear me. There were numerous scary moments in my childhood. I myself, can recall as a child, my father and brother falling in a lake of water with my mother shouting for help to get both of them out of the water. Our house catching on fire with my mother and me along with three of my siblings trying to get out my mother powerful strength holding on to us without letting go. Which my father were no there to be found. Later we learned that he was drinking with his friends up the street under a tree. Yours truly was told a few neighbors came to help. At that point we stay with my grandparents which I adored them. For the reason that I loved waiting for my granddad to come home from work for him to take me to get vanilla ice cream. After moving to Cincinnati, Ohio at the age of six from Alabama. My father continues to be very abuses to my mother for fourteen years of their marriage. Thank God she’s still alive today.

Thousands of people everyday attempt to leave their homes and migrate to a better life in a different place. However, a question that is always asked is why do these people risk their lives to leave the situation they are in? ii The answer to this question can vary based on each person’s situation, but an overarching theme is that these people are living in oppression, civil strife, extreme poverty, or just want to have the hope for a better life iii. Unfortunately, not all

BOOM i was so excited I hit it. Later that after noon my dad took me hunting. When we left got in the field we saw to small bucks and a turkey. After about two hours later my dad and i saw a okay sized 11 point . We were really excited. About five minutes after the deer came out we finally got a good soot at it. My dad could hardly see it, therefor he told me if I get a good shoot at it to shoot it. I shoot it with a 7 milliliter 08

The room is dim with the night light on, and my wife sleeps on her first night home. She’s in hospice, and I stand by her bed. With my free hand, I gently rub her fingers. My other hand grips the rail behind the seizure cushions.

I watch the expression on her face drop before she replies,”Nothing… Nothing. Why would there be anything wrong with you?” Her voice sounds unsure, like she could choke on her words at any moment. ”Then tell me,” I scream, “tell my why everyone always leaves?” I caught her off guard, I know it. “Tell me why everyone leaves. Why I am always alone at night when the monsters come out and I most need someone. Or why no one ever seems to care. Am I just a temporary thing? A pit stop?”

The Leaving, is a thriller story that is about six kindergartners that had gone missing without a trace and returned eleven years later. In shock, only five out of the six returned and were so confused that they couldn't even recognize their parents. Everyone is looking for answers on what happened to the children and the sixth victim, Max.

It was a rainy, stormy night, in Europe. We, Jews escaped the Ghettos. There was at least between 20,000 to 30,000 Jews that escaped. Hitler captured some of the Jews that escaped and forced them back in the camps. I didn’t get captured and my best friend Christina didn’t either.

I had to yell out or scream. I did. I had called for my loved ones who I knew were safe at home in Sussex. I ran. I ran until I could not run anymore. All I saw were blue bricks and a wooden ceiling rushing past. I was tired and all I could do was fall down on the floor. I stared at the ceiling. Waiting to die. Then when what felt like hours had gone by I heard a faint tapping in the walls. It is as if

Gun shots in the distance, dogs barking from of police sirens, the sound of footsteps asphalt. Hiding under my sleeping bag breathing hard I think to myself, “how the heck did we move from a safe neighborhood to this shit town?” Rolling myself over on my hands and knees off my makeshift bed I carefully listen to my surroundings -- nothing. A sigh of relief comes out of me as I force my eyes to adjust to the darkness in my room focusing on my bedroom window trying to remember if I locked it. My first night living in a new neighborhood was going fantastic! I have never been so scared in my life. My family and I had lived in trailer homes before, but not one with this type of neighborhood. I remember my grandmother would warn me about the house being broken into several times before which gave me caution before she accepted us into her house. The neighbors across the street were probably the worst people you ever meet. They seemed violent, like those types of people that you would not dare to make eye contact with. My mother, father, and grandmother would never get along with them blaming each other for a missing tool in our yard or once there was a missing trashcan. Looking outside my parents’ new bedroom window my mother noticed the traffic out new neighbors had and she began to spit venom at their name under her breath. Ignoring her I stuck my head out the window even more gripping to the window sill which made my knuckles turn white taking in my new neighborhood. A mobile