Personal Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

Deception comes in all sorts of shapes and forms. From flat out lies to subtle bluffs, the act of lying has a profound impact on not only its victims, but its perpetrators as well. In the case of Billy Wilder’s Hollywood classic Sunset Boulevard, nearly all plot points are driven by some type of deceit. Max’s lies drive Norma’s attempts to revamp her career, while Joe’s own fibbing eventually leads to his death. Even Cecil DeMille, Norma’s old director, tricks Norma into believing she is still a desirable presence in Hollywood. Yet, despite the numerous occasions of the film’s characters deceiving each other, the most notable form of deception in the work is that which the film as a whole employs on the audience. During Sunset Boulevard,

The sparks fly in the air, there are marshmallows in your hair, and you’re with your favorite people in the world. This is called the best place on earth, for me at least. I enjoy camping so very much, you meet new people, experience different things, make new memories, and have a blast. You also see new sights, smell some things, and always wake up to the birds singing and not the bustling streets of the city. Camping is my go to activity.

Carl hurried through the streets of Boston, his Red Sox baseball cap pulled low over his eyes to cover his graying hair and his mail clutched tightly in his fist. He strode into his cramped apartment and paused in front of the pile of blank canvases leaning against the couch, collecting dust. Carl hadn’t worked in days. His profession wasn’t the kind to call and demand that he return to work. Though he loved the atmosphere of the city, he didn’t envy the life of suits and corporations and business meetings. He preferred to create and, luckily, he was not unsuccessful.

Sitting in a hospital waiting room, alone, afraid; and waiting for the news; would she be ok? Would she even survive? My nerves were out of control; my heart was beating through my chest, you could literally see it thumping through my top. The beads of sweat racing down my forehead, as if I was in the middle of the Safari dessert. I have been an athlete my entire life, yet I have never felt so physically drained. I look around, my eyes opening, then closing; as if I am coming in and out of consciousness, then suddenly echoed words begin to ring around my ear drums….” Sir…...sir, can you hear me? Sir please, we need to know what happened. We need to know what happened to her. Maybe my motionless state showed my

At the beginning of my freshman year I was attempting to develop motivation as well as seeking purpose and determining value. Whether in school or during sports or other activities and events in my life, I was constantly searching for motivation towards a goal or achievement.

At six o’clock in the evening, New York City comes to life again. After finishing the hard work in the store, I back home in a hurry and replace my overalls into my tailor-made dress. By the appointment with Jimmy last week, I come to the board the cruise ship to the Coney Island.

Racing at night going One-hundred and forty miles an hour on US-27 holding the lead, Shift six gear, speed topped out at two-hundred miles per hour passing by cars smoothly. I chanted I am immortal, I am a god! while I pushed my sports bike to its limit. Suddenly a black car approaches. WHAM! I get Rammed from behind and lose control of my bike slamming into a Semi-truck up ahead. Lights out. When I peeked my eyes, I saw 4 humans around me. Thump after thumb I believe I was in an ambulance rushing down the turnpike. I looked around and the first words that came to my head are “Rick this is just a dream”. This is the story of how I escaped from an illegal laboratory that clones and modifies humans.

Matthew Jacobs was in a hurry as he drove is Gold Aston Martin down State Street. Chicago traffic was so busy this early in the morning and he was getting irritated. He needed to get to his favorite restaurant for his daily breakfast and he was famished from the party he hosted the night before. He had hosted many parties and benefits for various charities and artists, it was part of the billionaire lifestyle and he had an image to uphold. Although with the ladies, he had a great image and reputation for having a tree trunk sized packaged and it made him a bit big headed. He loved bringing home ladies from time to time, showing off his huge 7 bedroom brownstone house. The ladies always begged him for more, but he didn’t ever commit to more

«l was thinking about the day you called to tell me you had it,“ Seen an ad for a property on Michigan Ave." He mentioned sitting baq and meeting her eyes. "You were so thrill because the property was facing one of the busiest streets in Chicago, The Magnificent Mile. It Would bring in customers from all walks of life. I came by the same day to check it out with you, and then we stopped by the leasing office to Sign the lease.” He remembered all the details of the day, her excitement still so clear in his mind. She had found the place where

A Burley, mullet haired foreigner wearing a too tight Armani Jacket, walked in and shut the door. With a courteous smile, she gazed into portentous eyes, finding herself somewhat unsettled. “Hello, I am Stephanie and it will be my pleasure to open a new account for you, Mr.”? “Sergi Sokolov,” he said impatiently as he took her outstretched hand. With a forceful shake, she found herself withdrawing, taking refuge behind a desk that offered little assistance. His accent sounded Eastern European, Russian perhaps? Not too pleased with the long wait and eager to conclude, having business elsewhere, he tapped with deliberate intimidation. She was use to rudeness, it came with living in a big city, but she felt bullied! Just because he deposited a crazy sum of money didn’t mean he could treat people with insolence! While waiting, he took off his jacket, revealing a sleeveless shirt and a large, intricate tattoo on his upper left arm. Stephanie froze! Transfixed, as a memory flashed. Consequently, as her attention diverted, she realized too late he was speaking. With a shift, she met his eyes, “No Mr. Sokolov, we have not met before”. It was clear her stare unnerved him, chiefly by a prompt covering, the Jacket once more on his bulging body. Embarrassed by her transgression, she tried flattery, “The artwork of your tattoo is remarkable! I've considered getting one myself and curious to know where you got it”? He had told her he didn’t remember, but in effect, she knew he didn’t believe

The bells on the door sang as cherry red Doc Martens sauntered shamelessly through the doors of Ellis's Convenience Store a Sunday night in early November. They were accompanied by a pair of legs covered with black tights ripped like zombie skin. I glanced up to see the owner of those boots. She was wearing a white men's button down shirt as a dress. I wondered if it was her boyfriends, but then pushed the thought away. It wasn't any business of mine anyway. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to just above her elbow for the colorful stacks of beaded bracelets that adorned both of her arms.

It was a chilly evening in mid-September when Victor Nikiforov life became unscripted. Unraveled, every synonym of that. It started when he pulled into the packed parking lot. One parking space was left. The two people parked beside him did not have the proper education for how to park. How are these hooligans allowed to have a car? Victor got out of his vehicle and looked up. A sleek grey skyscraper stood, dominating the area. A fountain placed in the middle of the lot shot up synchronous streams of water accented by green light. He strolled around it and went into the building through the large revolving doors. The lobby was spacious, the stark grey floor had a glossy sheen. Accordingly, the coaches were light grey with lime green pillows.  Sconches lined the wall, giving the room a lime coloured glow.  The designers of the building were quite fond of the colour lime green.  A young woman sat in a semi-circle shaped desk. Her auburn hair was tied into a bun. She was looking down at her computer. She raised her head.“Good Evening, Welcome to (idk something round I guess) Can I have a name? She asked. ”Victor Nikiforov,“ he said. She scrolled on her desktop. ”Are you here for Jean Jacques Leroy’s engagement party? She asked, fumbling the pronunciation of “Jean”.

The final night passed by quickly. If I showed any dismay, no one commented on it. Clyde was happy enough to see me, greeting me with a kiss. I turned my face away so his lips would land on my cheek. He didn't seem to notice, or care. The night of Angelo's return filled me with excitement. I tried to convince myself it was solely for his friendship as I selected my best dress, the red dress that makes his whole face light up. Before Alice left for work, she styled my hair and applied my makeup the way she did the first time I met Angelo, my hair in ringlets, cascading down my back, and the smokey appearance of my eyes. I've been working all morning to perfect my performance, not for the stage, but for composure when in the presence of Anglo. All morning, I have chanted a mantra, “He's my friend, my best friend' boyfriend,” in a feeble attempt to keep my affections at bay.

You turn your head standing on the cold spot of my back porch, our eyes meet. But all I receive is a faint smile before you return to your anxious waiting, your vigil. As your hair blows in the wind a moment of youth flashes across you, you look young. As the vision vanishes you return as the self-made cultured New York millionaire you’ve become. The king of bootlegger lane.