Personal Narrative : A Short Story : The Story-A Story?

On a cold December morning snow blanketed the ground while a frozen mist masked the trees. Only the very tops could be seen. I stepped outside and inhaled the clean, crisp Texas air. Still half asleep, I walked to the truck feeling the soft powder compact beneath my boots and the snowflakes melt as they hit my skin. It was the time of year that I had been longing for.

was driving home from physical therapy for my knee. It had been aching for the past few days. I had never felt a pain like it before, so I played it off as nothing. As soon as I hit the highway, I went underneath the Lowry Hill tunnel. I lost reception on my radio and I soon realized that it wasn’t just the tunnel that was making me lose my reception. A massive storm had loomed over my head. The sky was green and looked like it was turning sideways. Rain splattered against my windshield. Not just droplets of rain, but the ones that look like they had been shot out of a paintball gun. I immediately felt the wind blow my car to the right. I had to swerve hard to the left to avoid clipping a jeep that was next to me. Boy, were they in trouble. The jeep had it’s

A typical day in a life of a missionary. I am awaken by the sound of

Malia gasped for breath as Dominic wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Her hands coming up to grip hold of his hands as if afraid they would leave her at any moment. And loosing him now meant loosing her ability to breath. He was like air, forcablly filling her lungs and pushing life back into her shaking body. It was his fault she was feeling this, but he was the reason she felt strong enough to face it all.

What a wonderful week, and way to end a transfer and begin a new one. I first wanted to say how grateful I am for this wonderful opportunity to be a missionary. It's been almost a year since I left beauty of California behind. Yet, there is something beautiful about the desert here in Arizona that I have truly come to appreciate.

I can recall the first time I was kicked to start a game. Some people say it’s a great moment but I don’t think of my memory like that. Before I got kicked I had heard great stories about it. So, I expected it to be super fun, but that’s not how I experienced it.

After what seemed like a long day, Ryder was finally given time to himself. Of course, it wasn’t a lot of time because birthday insured cake and ice cream time, but Ryder was able to unwind from all the stress built up from this special day. He was sitting at his desk, pressed up against the wall under the window that looked out at the front of his house, and he had his light on- only giving so much light in the room. The sun was coming down too, which Ryder thought was the perfect opportunity to write in his journal.

I scrambled up on the rock. The deer was standing down below feeding in the tall grass.

He bought a home security system and finally a gun. It was a silver .357 with a black grip.

The car slowed, and the road was empty. Moving into the emergency lane, I turned the hazard lights on and the car off. There was an empty gas can in the back and sneakers. I locked the door and began to walk down I-20. I had gotten off work at lunch to be at home over labor day weekend. It was now two o’clock, and I was in the middle of upstate Louisiana. The sign said the next exit was a mile and a half away. Though it was almost fall, it was still very hot, per usual down here. My immunity to the eighty five degree weather had already worn off. I threw my jacket behind my back and kept walking.

They say to take the pitch if it’s coming after you. They say it will only hurt for a minute. They say to get on base however you can. They say it will help you succeed.

I never knew that my fixed straight path of life will take a huge turn that day. The feelings that overwhelmed my body engraved itself in the inner depths of my mind as days walked pass by. And how much remorse and shame that continues to pile up within my soul; how painful it was to keep it hidden from the world was the past that can never be erased. If I had the power to turn back time and rewrite that whole day, will my life be the same as now? But as I continue to search for my lost one, the feeling of true love can never be conveyed within me ever again.

"No use Rose, she can't hear you. She's gone...." I know it sounds like I was over her death, but I'm not. It hurt to say that. It hurt to say the truth. So, I just don't. That's why I talk to 'her'. To distract myself from the truth.

I have a scar on my right hand. It is just under my thumb on the backside of my hand. It is a thin, pale mark, roughly an inch long. How did it get there? Well, I’m glad you asked. It is an epic tale, not meant for the faint of heart. It conveys the utmost bravery on my part, more heroic than King Arthur’s knights! If you so insist, I shall recount the tale.

I could remember every detail of Mary. She was the kind of girl that when she entered a room, everyone would stop instantly just to capture a glimpse of her. She had silky brown hair, so long that it almost grazed the small of her back. Her eyes were chocolate brown, and people often said when you looked right into them you could almost see right into her. Those were the good memories. The memories that didn't haunt me every day. Not many people are unfortunate enough to watch their most loved one die in there cold shaky arms. I remember watching her gasp for her last breath of air while holding the back of her head trying to stop the bleeding. I knew the roads were icy that night but I insisted on catching the late show so that we could be away from our parents and finally be alone.