Personal Narrative: A Woman's Search For Meaning

The anger flowed through her veins and killed her mind as if it was a deadly toxin to her spirit. Her eyes which were once full of innocence and happiness were now full of fire and would kill anybody in their path. Just by looking into her burning stare would slash you into tiny, bloody pieces. No one that knew her would be able to recognise her, as the girl they once knew was gone, and it was all because of him; the vicious, cold-blooded

The last thing I saw was my alarm clock flashing 1:07 AM before her rancid hands gripped my mouth shut. She dug her nails into my chest, muffling my plait of agony with her other hand.

Smooth, thin, and cold, the sharp object lying in her hands trembled due to her petite quivering fingers. The unforgiving sharp blade effortlessly sliced through her skin, pain and then numbness overshadowed her thoughts. With the world weighing down on her shoulders and with the sense of oppression, the girl carved into her arm without a feeling of regret. Daring, she placed the knife parallel to her veins located under her thin pasty skin. Finally, with resolution, digging the knife into her small arm, the young tortured girl could feel the deadly weapon tearing and mutilating her long tender veins. Gasping for breath, the pain surged throughout her body. However, with agony coursing through her body, the victim would not stop her leisurely stroll to the grave.

Looking at her face, pressing her feet with my fingers as she rests, I fossick through my conscience; in a silent escape from my dreams, I bank solitons of possibilities, holding the burning expectations, I need to deliver to, in a velodrome of recursive thought. This is the fastest way I take a turn and my face derives glow as I retrospect. The human heart is not designed to beat outside the human body, yet, I am that — my mother’s heart, bared, beating forever outside her chest. Whenever I yearn to hold her hands, my fingers can see in the dark. She is a powerful source of energy even in her sleep.

I could smell it… her blood. It pulsed and gushed through her veins. I could hear it… her heart, smashing against her ribs. I just wanted to rip it out and gobble it down like a turkey on Thanksgiving. My favorite thing about her was the vein the popped out on the right side of her big ol’ forehead when she got angry. I wanted to bite a chunk of her head out.

I still was upset, but I wasn’t outraged like I had been. She got out of the car and trotted her way over to where I was sitting. We sat in silence for a good ten minutes. Then i asked as calmly as I could, why did you do it. She didn't reply. I asked again. And she still didn't reply. That's when i got really mad. I grabbed her by her arms and was shaking her and yelling. I couldn't control myself. I threw her to the ground and went to grab my knife out of my truck. I couldn't stop myself, even if i tried. I went back and she was sitting there crying, bawling her eyes out. I grabbed her by her hair and shaved her face into the concrete. I started stabbing her repeatedly over and over again. I couldn't stop. I had blood all over me. I remember her crying and trying to yell for help, but you could barely hear anything from her. When i finally stopped, she was dead. I couldn't believe what i had done. I don't feel any remorse from it at all. I miss her, but she had it coming. I threw her body into the river. I couldn't clean the blood off my clothes, so i just changed into something i had in the truck and

You can feel Her presence hovering above you, Her intake of breath slow and measured. Your eyes are glued shut, if death was to come, you wish it to be now, make the torment end, but alas, She was notorious for prolonging pain and despair. As you peel your eyes open you lower your gaze to the cracked and grimy tiles. You watch, entranced, as the beginnings of a shadow loom over you, taking the form of a colossal, yet striking woman. “Hello there dear Charlie, I see you have been lashing out, how undesirable of you,” She whispered in Her eerily sweet voice, “I suppose you are due for a punishment.” The shudder that ran through you was undeniable, She was cruel and relentless, and there was no escaping. Suddenly, you had a strong inclination to face Her; you were not going to go down without a battle. With a bruised and battered body, you rose to stand before Her. Once standing, you heard a resounding voice that surged through you, beckoning you to cease provoking Her, and flee, so that is exactly what you

When I start to write a story, I try to reach into a particular topic, scene, or emotion and delve deeper to expand my understanding and its meaning in the human experience. I write not only to make sense of the world, but also to make sense of how others interpret what is written to their reality. I was drawn to creating stories when I was placed in an unfamiliar environment in the Solomon Islands. I made sense of and learned about my surroundings through crafting sentences; going from stressed and racy to calm and in control. Upon my return to America, I searched for ways to learn more about the craft, which I found through fiction workshops at Columbia University during my post-bac program and in my hometown of Austin, Texas. My interest

No sound to be heard, no blood stain to be seen and no mess around us, I felt pride in my heart. All because I was not nervous and the fugitive effects of the night light in her eyes, while she was struggling for her life, gave me only more confidence. Now all that was left to do was to get rid of her evil corpse because I could not put up with her anymore, her eyes that had rolled up into her head gave me a feeling of sickness.

That is the first time the glue on her lips began to give way so I just applied more. The chuck was large, hefty, bloody. I put it on my plate and cut it into pieces. Still warm I sat next to her and let her watch me chew what was once her arm. The blood coming from her was excessive, but made for a good dipping sauce. After I was done feasting on her arm I began to wonder which part I wanted next. Her abdomen? Maybe her thigh or calf? Her flank? That would be her side. I decided instead I wanted her breast. As I slowly sliced away at her very nice tits she began to fight a little too hard. I calmly asked her to stop or I would slice her slowly from belly button to throat. That calmed her some, I mean as much as she could be, it had to

The daggers dig in Piercing my flesh, like skewer’s Puncturing through a tender piece of beef. My new foe enslaves my skin I must coax her

Her wide, blindly staring eyes sink away, crawling backwards into the dark, morbid abyss of her skull. They swim around, receding as their pale, sky-like blue colour remains situated in the centre, away from the dark, earie shadows that creep menacingly around her hollowed, lifeless eyes. Her features are nothing short from a skeleton, cheekbones jotted out, as if they were trying to pull themselves away from one another, then in one fell swoop they cave in on themselves, leaving a hollow, cave-like shadow below her prominent cheekbones. Her Jaw line is strong like her cheeks, leaving a long, tall shadow across her long neck, her jaw looking almost as if it was not a part of her;

Tears formed in her eyes as she felt his words stab her heart and stomped on it as if she meant nothing. Anger and grieve passed through her body. She knew what her family had become ever since my mother did what she did. Her father became an abusive father and the vampire kingdom became superior resulting in a world fearing the vampires.

I walk through a gate made from dark red bricks and i gaze at the inside of the palace. There 's a perfectly sculpted chandelier atop the high ceiling, that looks as if it never rusts and there 's candles lit around every corner. The wax has not I hunger for the taste of blood and I can 't help but try and sniff her out. Or anybody wandering about. Using my vampire senses, i stifle the gravels sound under my feet, floating about 1 inch from the ground. she did this to me. Alvalee. She made me this horrid creature and pretended she loved me.

You walk into a dark, musty room with blood red crystals hanging from the ceiling and see this young girl with long black hair and sitting in a high backed black leather chair worn with time and in her hands is a small black bowl filled with a dark blood red liquid with dried herbs floating in it that is giving off a soft purple smoke as the liquid bubbles and churns as if boiling.You had come here for one reason: To hear the story she has to tell and share it with the world.The reason for this is that you are a storyteller. As you walk over to her, she looks up at you, her deep blood red eyes gleaming like gems of blood with her face hidden slightly by a sheer bloody crimson veil that is hiding her face, which is that of sheer