My Story : My Tale

It was 3 am in the morning. I woke up to a chilling phone call. I grabbed my phone and it was from Veronica. I was so confused, so I answered it. “Hello... “ I said as I heard screaming and crying coming out of her voice.

Put the gun down! Put the gun down! Pow Pow Pow. The gun shots cracked into the air as loud as thunder. One after another. We live day by day not knowing our end. In the blink of an eye our lives can be changed forever. Its life, yet even in knowing this we never expect tragedy to find us. We never expect it to affect our lives and the people we know and love. I’m going to share with you the day tragedy found my life.

First there was nothing but darkness. It felt like an endless void for one man. But as quickly as the darkness appeared, it disappeared into the light of day. The man dubbed ‘Hero’ quickly looked around the lush hills consisting of trees, rabbits, birds, squirrels and… slimes? He slowly walked over to one, still not trusting his legs, and as he drew closer the slime jumped at him. The slime impacted Hero and sent him stumbling backwards. Hero looked for something to fend off the attacker and found a copper short sword at his hip. He pulled it out of the sheath and stabbed at the slime. To his surprise the slime exploded into a pile of copper coins and a few balls of slime. Walking toward it he was surprised when the 2 objects started to float

Caroline, my sister, is the type of person who loves animals and says she wants to save the world. She thinks her jokes are the best, but she’s the only one that laughs. She is always willing to help someone out if they are stuck. She knows how to put a smile on someone's face. Whenever Caroline answers the phone, even if it wakes her from a nap, she always smiles first and then talks. “Because a smile can change any meaning” she always says. She is a 20 year old junior at “UW-Madison for my undergraduate degree in anthropology with certificates in archaeology and classics” (C. Schlinsog, Personal Interview, May 31, 2017). She is very smart, she is taking summer classes so she can graduate early and go on to graduate school. She has a big future ahead of her.

Ever since I was little my life has been changed. It all started when I was 8 and woke up to my parents fighting. They were throwing things at each other, calling each other names, and hitting and pushing each other around. I went outside of my room to go to the bathroom and saw my birth mother, Katie, laying in the floor with a pool of blood by her head. As soon as i saw this I went back to my room and pretended that i never saw anything. I tried to go to sleep, but I found that unbearable. The next morning I was getting ready for school and I noticed that my birth mother wasn't there. It was then at the moment that I realized that she was never coming back. I continued on with my day and when i get home later that day my father wanted to

My dragster ended up taking a different shape and look than what I pictured because of my poor time management skills. My car had a race time of 1.409, which was not the best or the worst. I had a design that I thought would help accelerate the car by being very aerodynamic and low to the track. I wanted the back of my car to be rounded and lower in the back that gradually came into small bump towards the front that led into a point. My dragster ended up thicker, higher, and less rounded in the back. The middle gradually descended into a small hill that led into a point in the front. Once I completed sanding and painting my dragster, it weighed 74 grams when it needed to be 70 grams or below. I had to sand off at least 4 grams after I already

“I will allow you to go to over Mackenzie’s sleepover as long as you promise to watch PG-13 or younger”, my mom yell up the base of the stairs from the kitchen.

My personal narrative was not very detailed because I could not remember most of the race and the reason I black out at the finish line. I gave everything had in the race and I barely remember any part of race. Till my family told I the whole race and I guess it finally came back to me but very few moments. But I remember everything before the first mile of the race and looking back that I’m a very spiritually person. Plus, I keep my traditions alive and still believe my way in my Native world. Instead of falling into the white way but I have to act white so I can make in this world and make a living for myself. I had to write about my last race because it was the best day of my life and I remember eating after the race at Texas roadhouse.

For my personal narrative, I have to write about a hero of mine, my hero is my best friend, Kat. Kat is my hero for multiple reasons, such as making me a better person, and a happier one. She also helps me edit and draw a lot of the time, which helps because she is super good at both those things.

My interviewee is a mother of twins who came from Vietnam. Her name is Tran Huang, who was originally born in Qui Nhon, Vietnam in 1976, then her family moved to the capital of Vietnam, Saigon, in 1978. On June 1986, my mother left Vietnam and emigrated to the United States in September of 1986. During my mother’s time in Vietnam, the Vietnam War had ended but the social hierarchy was collapsed and it had left the country in a state of caution. My mother was thirteen years old when she arrived in America. I chose my mother to be interviewed because she had risked her life escaping Vietnam during a time when there was a lot of turmoil in Southeast Asia. If she had not crossed the Pacific and enter into America, I would not be here today and

Being or feeling alone is one of the worst parts of being in high school. I understand that people might be friendly to one another, but does that really make you friends? In my personal opinion... no. You need a good foundation to be friends or best friends. Friends need to build off of good memories, and be able to get along well. Being a freshman in high school has really changed my entire view on life already. Knowing that I am not only in cheer as the mascot, but I play basketball, throw in track, and try to excel in school with my advanced classes. I have quickly realized that life is hard, but I recall no one ever said that it would be easy.

Growing up I was always taught that we are all created equally, so if this is truly the case why aren't we all treated equally? I believe we live in a skewed stereotypical world. We pass judgments far too often, judgments that affect the way we see and treat people. I believe we are raised being taught to fear rather than to understand. We are misguided and taught to be apprehensive towards people who aren’t “like” us. These ideas we are fed when we are young turn into practices when we grow older. I believe we practice treating people differently because we are scared, because we are told to be scared.

The person I interview was my very passionate and intuitive friend. A very loyal yet pessimistic person I asked him why he is the way he is. What did he experience in childhood that made his perspective on life change? “I grew up in Eagle Rock. There was, and I'm pretty sure there is still is a lot of shootings, gang members, and a lot of Mexican culture. Growing up I was taught to work. I've been working since I was 9 and around the age of 16 I was using my social security. Being the child of immigrant parents I wasn't privileged.I was taught to work for the things in life." Like myself, many first-generation children grow up under confusion and stress. Our parents left their life behind to start a better and new life full of opportunities

Even as a child, my active imagination manifested into the creative outlet of storytelling. Before I found that calling, however, I followed suit of many my age with an imaginary friend. His name was Brownie, my faithful and loving equestrian companion. I also liked to take all sorts of artistic mediums, crayons and markers and colored pencils, and doodle all over colored paper, creating abstract drawings of animals and family photos.

The voice in my head, normally so calm and controlled, was screaming at me to run. That was exactly what was going through my five year old mind when I walked around the hallway corner to see my mother being beat to her death by my biological father, Brax Magnus. As I tried so hard to stay and defend my mom, I could not help but panic and so I ran. I ran so far until I seen a small gas station. I went inside to find a phone, but realized I did not know who to call. The cashier, seeing that I was crying and looked panic, walked over to me.