Modern Day Narrative

I was thirteen when I moved to the United States. July 7, 2007 was the day my brothers and I packed up our belongings and left Haiti. It was a very exciting day because I got the chance to be on an extremely large white and blue airplane for the first time, and most importantly, reunite with my parents, whom I did not know because my father left Haiti when I was three years old, and my mother left a several years later. As a teenager, I had the mindset of living in a fairytale land. I did not think about the possible challenges I might encounter after leaving my homeland. The idea of adjusting to a new culture, learning a new language, and socializing with others that do not have the same tongue as me never ever crossed my mind. Little did

Arriving at school, no one know what was going on. “I remember that the students were all very upset, but no one knew what was going on.” Being unaware of the situation, Lilarose felt scared and worried. “I would hear about what happened, but not being able to actually see it. I could not comprehend the situation.”

I never thought that I would be saving someone life from drowning. That was until my friends and I did help someone. Which was something that happened very fast.

It was a bright hot summer day here in Little Pine First Nation, where the events took place. The chief and councillor’s had organized a fun filled day with family and friends spending it with one another. As the hot dreadful heat of the day goes by slowly the community is together as one enjoying the music blasted. The bass was pounding on my concession booth the good old country music that everyone likes. Kids are screaming, parents are cheering, cars and trucks are ramming, horses are stomping as they too are getting excited for the big day to start.

that she later went back for a second visit. This visit solidified everything; over the summer before her

What Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci coined "The New World" was now overrun by man-eating zombies. It all started in Chile and Argentina; news of a highly infectious pathogen had begun spreading at breakneck speeds. By the time epidemiologists had discovered the cause of this pathogen it had already spread to the Western half of the United States and was making its way east.

“On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character, or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions. I will always uphold the constitution, my community, and the agency I serve.” This is the oath average citizens take right before they become police officers. The oath shows us why police officers are here, they are here to protect us. The police, and other Government officials, should use police brutality because, if the same people who are supposed to be protecting us are hurting and killing us, then regular citizens are not going to respect laws and authority.

It was a cool September morning in the 19th century, the brisk, dry breeze of Kentucky's Autumn winds struck my face. It woke me from my slumber within the dark, forlorning cave. The dim glow of dawn's sunrise was refreshing, it gave me a sense of hope that... maybe I could survive running away from my master and live in freedom. Maybe I truly could make it to Canada, it may be getting cold, but temperature could only douse my hope for so long. Standing and brushing the leaves off from my dress, I gathered myself and headed out onto the Underground Railroad; my path to liberty. The leaves crunched and tattered beneath my feet, and the comfort of the cave walls were left behind me. I couldn't hide forever, I had to face the harsh reality that there was going home now.

The streetlights flickered every other minute, as the sun hid behind the clouds, keeping the town a bit gloomy. I continued walking, unsure of where to go, but desperate to get back home. As I walked, I could hear laughing children echo all around me, and then the indistinct sound of the melody of the song echoed along with them. Looking ahead, I saw something, or someone standing off in the

As we continued along the trail, we were stopped by a very steep hill. Hunter announced that we should dump some stuff from our wagon in order to get on top of the hill. I dump my a tired that I bought recently and a barrel with nothing in it. The trip up the hill was a pain. It took so long to get up the hill I almost fell asleep. My leg was sore and I thinking about giving up. Finally we made it to the top of the hill and we realized that we had to go down the hill. We decided to use our own ropes and slowly descend our wagon one by one. When we descend Curtis’s wagon, Curtis almost fell. He was able to caught himself before he fell down the hill. Well all went down the hill and as we were going down the hill, we saw a divine blue spring

The foul mixture of smog, anxiety and crisp night air pressed down on Maria as she trudged down the hill, trailing a few feet behind her twin sister at all times. Strange Taiwanese animals howled and whimpered in the distance. She took a deep breath and distracted herself the only way she knew how. Ninety six days and four hours since we saw Father. Four days until we graduate from the academy. One week until we go into orbit. Eight days until we see his face again. Maria scolded herself for enrolling in the first place. It had looked so enticing – posters and banners hung all around the city. Two men barged into their classroom and spoke gruffly of the advances people like them could make, had already made. People spoke in low whispers about the free education and opportunities it provided for those 500 successful applicants.

In “ The Stories We Tell “, Fischer Claude (2010) discusses the development of Americans’ culture and character over the nation’s history, and he maintains that voluntarism is a key feature of American’s culture and character.

I chose to break the norm of either smiling at strangers or giving them a neutral look when you make eye contact. I decided to give every stranger I passed a confused look like they had just spoken to me in another language. I must admit, this made me feel a bit goofy. I was on the fence as to whether or not to do this in the first place but I decided I just had to. The responses I received were quite comical. A few people asked if I was alright, and one person even asked if I had a problem with them.

I was not an intentionally bigoted twelve-year-old. I was raised in an affluent suburban community where the vast majority of people are white. The 100% white private nursery school which I attended was chosen by my parents largely due to its proximity to our home. My public elementary school was about 70% white as it was populated with students who resided nearby. Finally, the private middle school which I attended, located almost an hour from my home, provided me with exposure to the most diverse student body of my youth as it was comprised of about 65% Caucasian children. What each of these formative academic experiences shared in common was both that their student bodies were disproportionately Caucasian, as well as that their senior administrators

It is also assumed that the act of telling a story can provide insight into past, present and future events (Espinoza, 1997). By going through this process, individuals can find the importance of certain events and assign roles to people who are a part of their story. This act can allow a client to find new meaning and understanding to their reality (Espinoza, 1997). Not only is a