Mr. Wright's Home-Personal Narrative

Richard Wright’s “Big Boy Leaves Home” addresses several issues through its main character and eventual (though reluctant) hero Big Boy. Through allusions to survival and primal instincts, Wright confronts everything from escaping racism and the transportation (both literal and figurative) Big Boy needs to do so, as well as the multiple sacrifices of Bobo. Big Boy’s escape symbolizes both his departure from his home life and his childhood. Big Boy, unlike his friends, does not have a true name. This namelessness drives his journey, and Big Boy is constantly singled out in one way or another. The moniker ‘Big Boy’ is a contradiction—is he a large boy or is he a grown man?—and drives all of Big

Michael Wright was in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001 at 8:48 in the morning. He is an account executive. Wright was a thirty-year-old man who witnessed the crash at the tower. It was Tuesday morning when Wright and his coworkers felt an “earthquake” when they were inside the men’s room. He then opened the door and was surprised by the fire gushing into the building. From there he tried to evacuate and get to a safe place if possible. Wright’s information was reported in Esquire News “My Escape From the 81st Floor of the World Trade Center”. The following is a narrative of what Wright ‘s day on September 11, 2001 could have been. He was in a good mood when this tragic event happened.

William Foster is recently divorced, and his ex-wife Beth has a restraining order to keep him away from her and their child, Adele. In addition, he was recently laid off from his job. His frustration grows when his car air conditioning fails while he is stuck in traffic. He abandons his car and walks across Los Angeles to attend Adele's birthday party. At a convenience store, Foster becomes frustrated when the Korean owner refuses to give him change for a phone call. Foster disarms the owner and uses his bat to destroy merchandise before paying for a coke and leaving. Shortly thereafter, two gang members accost him with a knife. Foster attacks them with the bat and takes their knife.

I cringed, stopping halfway to my desk. Almost made it. A moment ago, when I'd peeked in through the classroom door, Mr. Lockhart had been preoccupied—completely absorbed in his book, as usual. I'd thought to sneak in without him noticing, but I should have been wiser than that. Henry Lockhart never misses a beat—no matter how faraway he may seem, his mind is always ticking. He notices every-freaking-thing.

no matter how hard Richard made their lives they still manage to keep their faith in Christ. And although, later on Aunt Addie and Grandma Wright give up on Richard, they still managed to keep their faith.

The leather furniture was cracked, and if the chairs were sat upon dust rose about one's thighs. The house seemed to be submerged in shadows as if it also refused to admit the light of the future. It had once been part of the most stylish street in town. Now it was surrounded with the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps. It had obviously become an eyesore compared to once when it had been so beautiful.

We Entered the Fully furnished antique home avoiding the broken glass pieces stuck around the perimeter of the window. The wallpaper was peeling and the furniture was eaten up by mice and rats. We walk around the room for five minutes silent until Grayson breaks the silence of course saying “Woah creepy” pointing at the large family portrait with each face smudged out with black ink. “Well let's look around then just leave” I say with Aleisha backing me up. “Nah nah” Grayson alluded in perfect harmony with my brother adding “Leigh Settle its just a house an old house”. “The Pattison Murder house where like everyone in the family was apparently killed by the son” Aleisha interjected. “Key word there, apparently” Grayson laughed rolling his eyes.I let out a slight sigh as I walked down the Hall with Aleisha. The Floors creaked and parts of the ceiling were smothered with Black

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.

Until today, I remembered my visits to Mrs. Burnage's house fondly. The neighborhood I lived in was small, with only ten houses on the whole street. Each house was placed far apart with everyone having at least three acres of property. Our house was at one end of the road, and Mrs. Burnage's was at the other.

Packing his briefcase with some of the folders of paper he heard the familiar whirring. The paper smoothly came out and a smile graced his face. “Hey Santiago go home already, I promised your brother I go easy” Turning to see a woman with a smile and a bottle of soda. “Ok thanks Lacey” He said and closed the suitcase. “Don’t worry Gabe it’ll get better, tell everyone I said Hi” She whispered as he grabbed his jacket off the

Get me to my computer. Now!" he told her. He hadn't a clue who the fuck Delilah was or why she was bothering him, but with his mind settled on his book, he knew what he had to do. It was the book that was going to propel him into superstardom and all he could think about was the deadline and the fact that he needed to work. He didn't know what the date was, but damnit, it was close. It loomed so large, it was the only reasonable thought he'd had since he'd regained consciousness. And if this woman was going to impede on his personal space, the least she could do was help him to his writing desk situated near the

“Hi, I’m Daniella Stacy...I’m here to see Dr. Avis…” she spoke quietly. The woman didn’t look from her computer screen as she pointed vaguely to a couple of clipboards. Danny turned slowly to inspect the clipboards and grabbed one of them once she realized they were identical. She took the clipboard over to one of the posh chairs in the corner of the waiting room. The entire room was silent, save the sound of the receptionist’s acrylic nails on the keyboard of her computer and the rhythmic ticking of a clock that seemed to be more for decoration than for actual time keeping. As Danny began to fill out the required paperwork, the scratching of her pen across paper came to accompany the small disruptions in absolute silence. As the silence pressed on, Danny began to regret her decision to go alone. She should have asked Ian or Loren to come with her, but she didn’t want to for fear that they’d see her cry. Danny didn’t have feelings, and she wanted to be sure everyone believed that. She stood to give the papers to the receptionist, cringing at how loud her footsteps sounded

Marcus recoiled slightly from her questions “It’s nothing. A stray dog got a little nippy with me for being on his territory that’s all.” Penelope held out her hands” “Let me see them?” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket “I’m fine. Caleb-tell-her-I’m-fine.” Caleb didn’t bother turning his head “Penelope, he’s fine.” Penelope looked at him “Will you tell him to let me look at his hands?” He stacked up a pile of dishes “Marcus, will you let her look at your hands?” Marcus rolled his eyes and sat back a little “No, tell her-” Caleb stacked the plates on the shelves “Nooo.” Marcus looked to Penelope “See you made Switzerland retreat into itself! Really, it’s no bid deal, a couple months off work and I will be good as new. I already talked to mom and dad about it this morning and they said that they needed some work done around the house, it’s a win-win. But, what about you, aren’t you supposed to be working some fancy new job?” An annoyed expression crossed her face “Don’t try to change the subject!” He leaned forwards enough to seem truly curious “I am changing the subject, but I do want to know more about this job.” Caleb gave a “Here, here, give us the spill. You have been working at the coffee shop for years, what made you change your mind?”

“Jumin, do you need help with anything? It seems pretty busy today,” Mrs. Johnson offered as she walked towards the counter. Jumin finally took a step back to try and relax and replied, “You don’t need to do that Mrs. Johnson, I can handle this.” Jumin smiled weakly and wiped the sweat off his forehead with an apron as he walked over to Mrs. Johnson. “It’s fine really, I don’t need any payment or anything, I just want to help out,” Mrs. Johnson shrugged, managing to convince Jumin with her award winning smile. “Okay, I’ll let you help me for a couple hours,” Jumin smiled, allowing Mrs. Johnson on the other side of the bar and quickly telling her the different orders and what she needed to do.

James squinted at a woman and her son on the opposite side of the conveyer belt, not understanding what was taking so long for them to open their last carrier. A small shadow tugged on his mother’s pants, obviously aware of the gazes upon them and knowing that the boy didn’t wish to be seen, James shifted his eyes from the sight. Instead, feeling the long hours of work in his ankles and shoulders, he decided it was time to finish up.