My Hero's Journey-Personal Narrative

The day was chill and somber.  Overhead was a gray expanse of cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze; so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might now and then be seen a its solitary play along the path (159).

Change is inevitable. Whether it be positive or negative, change is constantly happening. More than often change can take you from the known world and spit you into the unknown, where you return a changed person. While embarking on the journeys provoked by change, you are on a hero’s journeys. The hero’s journey was popularized by Joseph Campbell. When describing what prompts hero’s journeys, Joseph Campbell said,

Candy threw his legs off his bunk. He scratched the white stubble whiskers on his cheek nervously. “I’m so used to him,” he said softly. “I had him from a pup.”

Zachari's grandmother showed the QP the court documents the probation officer left that reports he has 20 hours of community services, have no contact with the co-defendants, curfew set by the parent, and contact with his probation officer.

I pulled my hair up into a pony tail and slung my purse over my shoulder before responding to him.

I was nine years old when it happened. I loved Shrek so much, I owned all the movies and the merchandise, I even prayed to Shrek every night, I still do. This night was no different "Shrek is love. Shrek is life." I finish my prayer, thanking Shrek for the life I've been given. My dad overhears me "Faggot." he mumbles under his breath. "Cunt." I reply, I say no more because I know he is just jealous of the devotion and relationship I have with the green lord an savior, Shrek. I can see him grow angrier before he slaps me across the face "Go to your room you disgusting faggot!" he yells. I hold back the tears and I go back to my room, once I'm in the safety in my room I let the rears flow. My face stings from where he hit me. I climb into my cold and lonesome bed, and the suddenly, I feel a warmth move towards me, it runs a large finger down my back.

“Some people got kinda rough and long hair” she said self-congratulatory. “Like myself; my hair is jus’ like barb-wire, but my dog’s fur is soft and nice. ‘Course I groom her a lot. That makes it soft. Here- pet her.”

The thundering sound of hooves echoes in my ears as my horse comes barreling down the hill toward me. My whistle had caused him to go crashing through the tall grass and Queen Ann’s Lace in search of me once again. Coming to a sliding stop in front of me, I gently stroke his muzzle. Letting my hands glide over his fuzzy neck and into his jet black mane, I grab ahold and throw myself onto his strong back. We go running through the pasture, scattering wild rabbits and sending sparrows a flight. I watch them fly overhead, their brown wings leading them to rest in the big oak tree that my horse and I come to a halt underneath.

A mysterious yet beautiful unknown hidden world to human eyes which held the deepest, shimmering eternal blue, just like the finest sapphire jewels or the prettiest earth flowers, hidden deep beneath the dark crystal waters. I was born in these waters, and to the ocean is where I will return and die. I closed my eyes, as I turned my face to the wind. The warm, gentle breeze caressed my bare ivory skin, as I felt the warmth and feeling return to the edges of my fingertips.

The bittersweet defines me. These moments seem to chase me, to tear me down and build me back up. It was in Hyderabad, India. A city filled with the earnest cries of chaiwalas urging you to buy their steaming teas, the exuberance and chatter of countless people as you walked down the worn streets, the occasional herd of buffalos that seemed to give you judgmental side glances, but at that moment it felt empty. Thirty-two hours left—our flight was leaving back to Alabama.

I was looking out upon the dwindling light of dusk. It was fading slowly into immense peaks stretching high from the crisp green grass wet with dew from the prior rain. My paint brush was wet thickly with a spectrum of colors. I then saw a canvas half-finished with yellowish-red rays of dense paint resembling a enticing marvel of light engraved into the sky. Abruptly my false sense of peace was extinguished. I was awoken with a raucous barking resounding in my ears.

Autumn had just commenced so the leaves began to change from stunning lime green to a beautiful golden yellow. The wind furiously blew everything in its course without remorse. Although windy, the weather was unexpectedly warm. The sun’s rays were almost blinding in the cloudless pellucid blue sky. Yet, despite this delightful weather I could not help but feel uneased.

Another year, another week, another day. These words seemed to weave through my head, utterly incognisant of their pivotal roles in panning out my existence. I pause through my brief moment of self-evaluation and stare up at a flight of stairs, bellowing out my wretched name. Glistening wooden boards adrift, full of tasty morsels eager to jump into my jousting jaws. A gale of wind howling through a nearby window sent chills up my black hard shell. I fall into the clutches of my meandering path, helplessly conflicted with my insatiable appetite. I begin routing through the assortment of dust, grime and hair, feeling bold yet feebly bleak. Managing to finally scatter through the fine dining, generously left in abundant amounts, I pick up where

“You got me a collar?” Taehyung snicker. “Why not call me Pet, now?” Taehyung added before picking up the collar with lose fingers. At least the collar was pretty.

The bees still buzzed and hummed among the flowers; the deer still grazed softly among the undulating waves of grass, yet in that moment, their movement seemed arrested, held in check by the waning sun.