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.

I caused Greg to break his hand without any remorse at the time. Greg was a high school acquaintance who tended to bully me. He was significantly taller, stronger and more athletic; therefore physically bullying me wasn’t much effort for him. When I heard he was coming to work at the warehouse, I wasn’t particularly happy about it. The warehouse contained boxes from multiple suppliers. Some were really thick and some were really thin. They all contained books, though some were heavy text books while others were light weight paper backs. All workers with experience knew which boxes were heavy, which had thick soft cardboard as a box, and which were encased in thin cardboard. I waited until Greg stopped by with his working partner for

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

It is a warm May night, and I couldn't be any happier. I am sitting in the middle of the Gwinnett Arena anxiously waiting to hear my name. "Look someone is waving the Mexican flag up there," the guy next to me said as he points to the audience. I turn around to see, and realize it's my family. I wasn't embarrassed at all. Actually, I was happy to see the excitement on their face. They call my name, and I go up to get my diploma. "WOW! I MADE IT," I think to myself. I immidiately wave my diploma at them and they wave the Mexican flag even harder. After the ceremony was over, we had over 500 seniors trying to find their families, it was total chaos. I didn't have a way to contact my family since we weren't allowed to have phones with us during

G sharp, C sharp, E natural. Finger 5, 1, 2, and 5 again. And then F sharp, and then…yes, I finally got it! I think to myself as I do a fist pump into the air. I had perfected a part of a piece I was playing that I had been struggling with for the longest time. My left hand was already tired from hammering away at the piano keys for what seemed like hours. I turned the pages back to the beginning of the song and played through the whole song. I was finally ready perform it at the recital.

It seemed like the weekend would never come. It did, and now she had to scramble to get preparations ready for Ray’s arrival this morning and Fiona and Emily’s for lunch.

Life can always push you trough big changes in any instant of your life. I honestly would have never thought that at this very young and short age my life would have changed the way it did, to be completely honest it was truly a blessing. I had been born and raised going to a catholic church with my parents and sister, every Sunday at eight a.m. My family and i would be at church, it was only an hour long and it always went by really fast actually. I know my parents only wanted the best for me and my sister, to be raised by a good family that believed in God, but to be honest as i grew older it started just becoming a habit to be at church every Sunday, of course my parents hoped for me to actually learn something every time

I've never had to write a personal narrative before. Nor do I like to. Personally, I've always just tried to forget a lot that goes on around me. I hate diary entries and journaling. The closest I've come to any of it is writing poems. They were never any good though. Mostly talking about teenage angst or what I think the color green would taste like. But some of them were like stories. Stories about my friends, and about dreams.

When I went to Boston to visit my mom I would see my best friend. She is my mom’s boyfriend’s niece, so it’s pretty clear how we met. One day when she came over for a sleep over we got in a argument over a stupid situation. It was about 2:00am we were still up eating junk food, laughing, and playing. The next day, my cousin who I haven’t seen in forever came over, we were both so excited to see each other she literally jumped on me!

The sun was shining and Bianca was going through her family memory book, as she flipped and turned the pages of the memory book all the memories of her dad came flooding in. Bianca loved her dad, that was until he left her without saying anything, no “goodbyes”, no explanation, and no apologies he just walked out of her life just like that! Ever since then Bianca found it difficult to let other people into her life. Holding back tears Bianca put the memory book back on the shelf quietly, she then went outside to go take a walk and clear her mind. Going outside was not working in Bianca's favor, every corner she turned Bianca would see kids playing with their father and laughing, Bianca could feel her cheeks burning as the tears rolling

All I could think about was how bad my legs hurt. I had scratches from branches that tore away at my skin on my arms and legs, a terrible headache and my clothes had so many rips and tears that I couldn’t remember how I got. I couldn’t remember anything, not my name, what had happened or anything. I just didn’t know. All I knew is that I had been stumbling through the woods for quite some time. Well until I came to a road with tons of cars coming from every direction. I stepped one foot at a time onto the noisy road filled with commotion and so abruptly it all went black. I woke to nearly blinding lights shining above me and looked around to see the room of a hospital. As I tried to sit up I experienced a piercing pain that lasted until I finally

Growing up, regularity was my best friend. I was perfectly happy to live each day as I did the last one, knowing exactly what to expect, always prepared for everything. Experiencing new things was far out of my extremely small comfort zone, which is why I was so thankful that my family’s summer vacation was the exact same each year.

The strobe lights mirrored the pulsations of my heart, it felt more real than ever. Dancing up against my friends, I gazed his way to see if he was even noticing. With the DJ now finding the chance to rest, I strutted confidently just past his group of friends in hope of catching his attention.

“You are so lucky that your mom picks you up and drops you off at the bus stop every single day. My mom never does that for me except on a few occasions when the weather is terrible” my friend April said to me once during a bus ride.

There is a extensive number of things I always wished I could do, before I die. I've created a list of 10 things. some of these plausible, and some radical. The things I wish I could do at some point are probably going to happen one day, So there’s no need for me to fret. All i need is a tremendous sum of money to cover the expenses.