Personal Narrative

I arrived at practice with my shoes laced, hair pulled back, and the mindset that I was unstoppable. I could play against every member of my team and come out the victor on any given day. It was the first day of practice that week, and challenge matches were scheduled to begin. The team went through our daily shuffle of drills, conditioning, and running to prepare for what was lying ahead. While warming up with my friends, I felt great, talking about homecoming, boys, and a variety of irrelevant events. I felt ready. The odds were in my favor and nobody could stop me.

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.

Were I to name one thing unique about me, it would be that I’m one of the only people I know who can say from experience which is more difficult; writing a personal essay or surviving a life-or-death, take-no-prisoners spy shootout, complete with a crowd of bad guys, laser guns, and of course, a hero and a sidekick. I’m the sidekick.

I think about it for a moment. "Thanks for the offer babe, but I'd rather fly this one solo" I reply to him.

It was a hot sweltering Saturday in August, August twenty-seventh to be exact. I remember waking up that morning with my stomach in knots we were to play the Hot Springs Bison. Sure, I played JV last year and practiced all summer with the first team but now all the hot god awful gut ranching two a day practices were about to pay off.

The sky melted from a clear blue to creamsicle orange and pinks to a dark, starry navy. I could see the sun’s transition really well inside the little glass diner I worked at, Cosmo’s. The ceiling and walls were constructed entirely of glass, and blue lights made up the floor, giving the small diner a cold, lonely feeling. The booths were silver with pastel blue cushions, the tables silver with shimmery blue tablecloths, pressed under glass. The bar table, that enveloped me, silver with blue lights underneath the glass top, accompanied by tall, blue faux leather bar stools.

There I was, walking through the tall wooden door that laid open in front of me. I am about to work what seemed like, the longest seven hours of my life. The bright ceiling lights were shining in my exhausted eyes from a long day of school. As I prepare to punch in my seven-digit number into the register, I could smell the overwhelming scent of pumpkin in the air. Just as I thought, Dairy Queen has now started the bright fall orange seasonal blizzard, The Pumpkin Pie Blizzard. I can just taste the cinnamon in my mouth that is watering over the smell of the pumpkin spice.

She's got the black plastic of a cutting knife handle gripped in her palm. Beige-painted fingernails glisten under the scrutinizing lights of our glazed kitchen; a classy and neutral color, like herself. She's grinning in concentration, a thin upward-curving line shaping her lips.

The flame from Nick's lighter danced in the darkness as he lit his cigarette. I faintly heard an aged man speak from the television "2 found dead in New York apartment..." I turned my attention towards the TV out of curiosity. "Autopsy shows the couple died of starvation, this is now the tenth time we have seen this similar situation..." Nick cleared his throat to speak, a puff of smoke escaped his lips and disappeared into the darkness of the room. I shifted my gaze towards him awaiting his thought. He spoke in a tired voice.

I was an only an 11 year old child with only my dad to raise me up, my mother had passed away from a heart attack when I was only five years old. My dad was a boxer that would always come home beaten up. I would have to patch him up every time that he would lose a fight and come home with cuts and bruises on his head.

When I was 11 I owned a dog named Bruno, who always managed to bring a smile to my face. Unfortunately one day when I returned from Mexico, I was devastated to find out he had run away. Ever since I was young I've been self-reliant so it was lovely to have someone there for any circumstance. My parents would usually be at work and when they home they'd usually be in their room resting. In addition, I'm the youngest child, my youngest older brother winning me by 8 years, so I didn't really have siblings to accompany me especially since they all started a family significantly young—this of course only led to them moving on faster meaning I was pretty much on my own. It was nice to have someone so ecstatic to see you that they literally jumped

I grew up as a creative, very imaginative person. My imagination was always going, 24/7, going like Lebron in the paint, it couldn’t be stopped. I would stay up some nights imagining myself as a cop, a football player, basketball player, astronaut, truck driver, you name it. I imagined myself being anything I wanted to be. But how I got to be so imaginative is because of something I didn’t think until I began to write this essay. I was raised in a small town call Crossett, Arkansas, above the border of Louisiana. This town is a town in which I call a “chill town.” Everybody knows each other, and when pass by in your cars you can wave and give a bright smile and they’ll do the same back. Usually on a weekend you can find mostly everyday in their

When I arrive home, I go into the kitchen and grab a snack. No one was home so I decided to go to sleep. I lay in my bed and try to focus on sleeping. I lay for two, four hours, sleep evades me. I groggily find my way into the bathroom and grab a dixie cup and melatonin to aid me in sleep. I don't remember much about how I got to bed when I wake up, or much about my dream. But I do remember seeing Isac dead in my dream, and the light from my necklace shining through the room. I know something isn’t right, and while I can’t place exactly what it is, I know it’s bad.

Everyone remembers a time in their lives when their mom came through and saved the day. Mine happened to happen at 1:30 AM on a Saturday morning. To fully understand the story I’ll give some background.

James began to think about his past, about what helped him get to where he is now. He thought about it all day, but he couldn’t think of a thing. He grabbed his blazer off of the coat rack and closed up shop. Walking down the corridor, James communicated his goodbyes and “See you tomorrow”s before exiting the building. He walked out the door