Personal Narrative-American Home

Daniel's bemused expression said more than words. His eyes swept across the room, and his brows furrowed slightly. The dark gray walls were painted bright yellow. Baby animal decals replaced the Amsterdam posters.

It's the smell that hits you first. As you lug open the big and awkward, reddish-brown-painted door decorated with its tired hinges, that creak like the moaning of difficult and crabby old men, a puff of the sweet, old and bad-smelling odor of last summer's straw presses from your first, slow breath into your nose. Then you detect the undertones: the hot and humid, snobby musk of animal fur and the sharp smell of old, oily metal and machinery. Soon after the smell, your eyes make up for the dim paleness of light, and you begin to make out the shapes of dusty frames of wooden stalls and poles, and the heavy chest of the loft that hangs from the ceiling.

It’s been four months since Delilah left for New York. She wanted something new, since we were together for 5 years, I must’ve been too used to align with her new tastes. Saskatoon might not be the most interesting place in the world, but it’s where I grew up, where we grew up together. I heard my mom call me from the kitchen, that’s enough dwelling for one morning. She handed me a coffee on the way out the door as I ran to catch the bus.

July 2nd. Leaving the house in the early morning with the sun barely shining as it is coming out from its hiding place behind the trees, my mother, Magvern (my brother), and I were taken to LA Greyhound station. Walking inside with our luggages tailing behind us, we see families clustering around the ticket and information desk. With our already printed tickets in hand, we walk toward the baggage check before entering the waiting station for the bus. As we wait for our departure, my brother took out his phone and my mom starts to crochet while I am left to my demise. Out of boredom, I start to text my cousins; however, no was awake yet. Staring at the blank screen it felt like hours were passing by. Finally, I saw an icon flashing, Lily was on! The moment did not last

It was just a regular November night. I was about halfway through 4th grade and was enjoying it. I was playing in our basement at the time. I didn’t notice that there was a partially big mess in the basement. Then all of a sudden, I heard the inviting voice of my mother yelling,” Time for dinner.”So my little 9 year old brain thought Oh boy, dinner. So I ran to the stairs, still not noticing the mess. Tripped over a chair, then fell up the stairs…… and broke my wrist.

I couldn’t breathe. It was like drowning but without the water. Blink after blink, my vision seemed to degrade, but the pain was gone and I could feel my wound gradually healing. I couldn’t see much, just three moving figures pacing back and forth the room.

I sped down the hill as fast as I could, looking desperately for my young wife. I came to a stop where the road splits into four, still no sign of her. I dismounted my machine, and began to examine the roadways to figure out where exactly we had came from. with any luck, Elizabeth has backtracked back up the road. As I was examining the tracks, I heard someone on horseback approaching. I looked up to find an old farmer, whom was missing 2 or 3 of his teeth and had hair resembling a mop, making his way casually down the road.

I wake up, I feel around for my glasses. Aha, there they are! I wrap my fingers around them before bringing them towards my head. I use my old brittle fingers to fold out the legs before sliding the legs through my hair to tuck behind my ear, and the frames up my nose. I sit up in bed, feeling for the clock, I press the worn down button. “7:58 a.m. on May 2nd. Real feel is 68 degrees” says the clock. I sigh, today it has been six years since they left.

If he could, the youth would have remained there for hours. The harsh words he spat out toward the entity was the only form of affection he could convey to a man as formal as his father was. The fashion of his character, the way he conducted himself, was one in which the fledgling lionized. Respect from his colleagues was something the man had in abundance, and Titus wanted this. He wanted to be above them all, to inspire fear in their beings with just as a flick of his wrist.

The sun penetrates the green leaves, leaving blotches on the wall behind my head. In my front porch oasis, I struggle to balance my plate of food on my lap and shield my eyes from the sun simultaneously. The sun is bright and the rest of my family are wearing their glasses. Mom and Lila sit on the swing in the corner and rest their plates on the arm rests. Lila swings the seat, moving her feet to the rhythm of the Grateful Dead.

“It’s my turn to use the bathroom!” Evan screeched while pounding his fist on the door.

The cool, crisp, night air trickles down the back of my throat. As I hide under the small pillow and plump acacia bush, hoping to go unseen. I’m feeling all too confident. Looking through the leaves, I relive the night my hiding skill set was put to the ultimate test. Three, two, one ready or not here I come ….

I wake up slowly, like I am immersed in a weird combination of honey and crunchy peanut butter. I’m in no rush to open my eyes but I do anyway, I have to. Slipping into the same white clothes I wear everyday, I glance into a mirror and my eyes widen at the sight. My blond hair is a tumbleweed on my head and the only good thing about it is it takes attention away from my brownish green eyes that I despise. I rake a brush through my hair furiously, my pale nose scrunching up in pain every time I hit a knot. Giving up halfway through though, I realize that nobody cares. I lay the brush down on the dresser and stride out of my room. Lost in my thoughts, I bump into someone halfway to my destination. I’m about to exclaim my apologies when the victim

Lexi woke up to the smell of something delicious floating in the air. She didn’t quite know what it was, but whatever it was, it smelled delicious. She looked around to find that Logan was nowhere to be seen. A spark of fear flared inside of her as she thought about how the whole thing could have just been some wild dream. But then she looked around and saw his bedroom. It couldn’t have been a dream.

Her smooth hair, that heart­shaped face, and those clear blue eyes. My Dear​L​eslie... my beautiful girl... It feels like putting my lips into a delicious cake. When I am ready to bite in that creamy butter and taste that hint of almond, I realize that it is all just an imagination. That moment of disappoint and emptiness is what I am feeling right now.