Mr. Boddy's Home-Personal Narrative

It was a beautiful night in Chicago. The moon was showering the city with its magnificent light, and the city was booming with noise due to the special event the local movie theaters were holding. The movie theaters were holding a free movie night for some of the top movies of the year 2006. Along with that, they claimed for every person who came, they would donate 50 cents to a local business. Me and my best friend, Zee, slash partner in the detective agency squirmed through the crowd trying to reach the door to our favorite movie of the year “ Monster House”. Even though we both knew that it wasn’t meant for adults we still enjoyed the plot and some of the thrills. As we neared towards the door, we noticed that the crowd had stopped moving and a high pitched scream cut through the air. Me and Zee instantly fought our way through the crowd trying to reach the distressed cry. When we arrived my eyes took a serious tone as I told everyone to evacuate

I didn't always live in California. Before California I lived in Denver, Colorado. Before Denver I lived in Aurora, Colorado. When we moved to california we had a family of five. We moved to California, when I was six, Then we lived at my grandma’s house in Riverside for a year. We found a place on Ferree Street and that became our home.

Someone broke into my car and about $400 worth of cash and items were stolen.

The house was long, white, and had blue shudders. I could always pick out which set of windows out front peeked into my bedroom because of the messy off-white paint stuck to it after years of never being touched up. Inside, so much more was going on than the typical all-American home lead outsiders to believe. Confusion, growth, fear, and lots of aluminum cans.

It wasn't until I was an adult that my appreciation for Fred Rodgers was established. I imagine it's the same with most of us. As a child, Mr. Rodgers Neighborhood wasn't my favorite show. It was just something to watch on a warm sunny summer afternoon.

But it was a start… or so he thought. The next three months went by without a word or attack until Thanksgiving eve. Terry was helping his mother peel potatoes while his father was reading the newspaper. All of a sudden, Terry’s father had a flashback. He dropped down to the floor faster than a fainting goat. He acted like a fish out of water; squirming on the cold kitchen floor. Terry’s mother continued peeling the potatoes, assuming it was just another average attack. It was not. As Terry looked over to his father, he remembered what happened at the hardware store; nervous laughing, his father crying, all the chaos at once. Terry realized that this attack was much more severe. He dashed to the landline, dialing 9-1-1 as his mother rushed

Hey, guess who called me today?” Anna expressed vaguely before taking a bite of her salmon again.

My Bubby, which is Yiddish for “grandma”, used to say that my family was like the United Nations. That’s because, while one half of my ancestors were Jews who immigrated to the U.S. from Russia, ending with my dad who was born in Brooklyn, New York, the other half, my mom’s side, came from Ecuador to the U.S. This is not to exclude my aunt Jade who moved from China and converted to Judaism. My mom also converted, and I was raised Jewish, going to temple for Hebrew school and when observing holidays, although I still got to experience the loud, exciting side of my Hispanic family.

Nobody told her not to go to the well behind Mr. Porters house, so she did. Sure, people would look down upon the action, some even calling it trespassing, but she didn’t care. Nobody warned anything about it, nobody directly, or even indirectly, told her not to go to her 96 year old neighbors house. They were either ways going to brush off the topic due to the curiosity of a four year old, and that was true. She only went to the backyard because she was curious, but she wasn’t curious for what your average 4 year olds would be curious for. It wasn’t the yapping dog that nearly scared her half to death when she entered the backyard through the freshly painted white picket fence. Nor was it the newly grown dandelions that scattered all around the emerald green yard. It was just the well.

Recalling when my husband and I sold our first house, it’s apparent that emotional persuasion had an impact on the sale. Reminiscent of a fifties style box house, ours was a small bungalow in a young neighborhood filled with young families. Similar to the majority of homeowners in the area, it was our first home in a new subdivision filled with young families and people embarking on their life journeys. In the first few weeks of being listed, potential buyers flocked to preview it; however, interestingly, the couple who ultimately bought the property seemed more interested in their idealizations than truly in the house itself. Expectant with their first child, this was going to be their first purchased home. As she entered the house for

PJ’s home from school for the weekend, and mom is so happy. A marathon game of Skip Bo, lots of laundry and good food prepared by PJ. He’s a year away from receiving his degree in gaming design and development and now he’s talking about attending culinary school. Love you son, but only one degree, You get to do the next one. You are an awesome chef. The red snapper you grilled for dinner tonight is mouth watering good.

The snow had finally began to fall in our quaint little neighborhood, I could see my own breath each time I exhaled. I would spend most of the winter days playing in the snow with my friends. During the winter, each day was routine for the most part: wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast and stroll around the neighborhood. Although, during my walks, I would get a cold glare from my neighbor, Mr. Hansen, every time I passed his house. His face was wrinkled, and his hair was grey and withered like a decayed flower. He looked shocked each time I saw him, as if I had done something terrible to him. To my recollection, I had never even uttered a word to him before. Perhaps his old age was the cause of his scornful glares. In fact, he would look at everyone the same way. Some of the local women would try to greet him with a smile, but he would just remain silent on his porch sitting in his eroded old rocking chair. The whole neighborhood judged him for his distasteful expression. Rumors about Mr. Hansen being some kind of lunatic began spreading amongst the neighborhood kids. I remember I would get chills down my back each time I imagined the look on his face. He was a phantom, haunting the neighborhood with his unsettling aura.

I did a terrible thing one summer. I killed a cat. It was the summer of my sophomore year. My friends and I hung out a lot at the Shack. The Shack is a cool place right outside of town. We hung out at the Shack everyday that summer. The Shack is just a place, and there isn't actually a building there. One really hot day, we were out at the shack hanging out. We all decided that we should go back into town to get drinks, because it was too hot. We all went into town except for Ford. Ford is one of the dumber ones in my crew. He's always doing stupid things and getting himself into trouble. The rest of went into town and bought lemonade. Lemonade is one of the best drinks to have in the summer especially if it's cold. On the way back out to

As police helicopters fly above the skies of Arnwith and over the fields. The forest swarms with police also searching every inch of it, along with dogs sniffing around for evidence. Meanwhile back at the old pear tree guesthouse the sun shines through the window of his room. Unslept in and full of his belongings you can still hear their laughter and feel the passion they'd shared there together.

I am Lucy, age 17, not telling last name, and I am an assassin. Right now I am inside headquarters, waiting for my next job. One of the best, I keep a low profile among others. In school i’m more of a loner than a popular person, having finished high school, I have the whole day free from anyone else's control. Suddenly remembering the high school get together is tonight I rushed out and ran home. When I packed everything together I went join the others at Macy’s house. “ Hey! You coming or not?!” John yelled. “Coming!” I yelled. When we left to pick up all the others, on the last stop I felt a shock “Not now!!” I thought. I shoved through people to my bag, snatched it, and ran back to the back of the bus. Alone I opened my computer, logged