Personal Narrative: Drowning

It was sometime around 6:00 p.m. on a Thursday night in the middle of January 2016. There was a swim meet going on and it was just about to start. The teams were warming up and getting ready for the meet that was due to start in the coming hour. I was warmed up and concentrating on the race listening to music in my newly acquired platinum studio beats. The music was loud and the nerves were setting as I walked into the locker room with my friend and teammate. As we passed I said good luck to our teammate who I was racing against in the 200 free style. Then out of know were he pulled my friend to the side and whispered something in his ear. I didn’t hear what was said as I had continued to walk. My friend came over to me and I asked what he had said and he told me. He told me

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

When the helicopter landed, I was the first out. I was greeted by a small, scrawny man holding a clipboard, one of the paper-pushers as the Sergeant in charge of leading us called them - they didn’t fight, they only made sure supplies got where they needed to be - and that nothing was missing. The moment we got off, shots began to ring out. I had no idea what to do, I didn’t know from where the bullets were coming. The tree line to the north was empty, the citizens were running for cover - my brother was already dead - and he hadn’t even exited the helicopter. I realized who was shooting now.

When my friends or family ask me to tell them about the war I always share the same story. It was after midnight and we were at the ambush sit, outside My Khe. We were spread out in a dense bush. We worked in teams of two, and we would switch every two hours. In the last five hours nothing had happened, I finished my two hours and woke up Tim to switch off. It was hot and foggy, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but that was hard to do when you are at war. I had tossed and turned and had finally

My tone toward the subject is confused and guilty while my attitude is more hopeful. My tone is displayed when I use a metaphor to say that “I’m drowning in a sea of disappointment”, it shows that that the guilt is consuming me. My attitude is more hopeful because I say that “they were manipulated”, so they might not recognize what they do. I would show examples of what I did like “refuse to speak in their native tongue”. After each example I would say “Was this their dream” to display my confusion and guilt I had when I did not meet their expectations. I repeated that question often, I did this so that they audience would understand the effect that these “dreams” or expectations had on me. Throughout the poem I use the word “dream” often

My head slowly angled down at the murky brown water reflecting the bright sun as It flowed downstream. “Come on you pussy”, I heard from below. From then on, and for these three words, my fate would be decided, On that day about four years ago, i would know what fear feels like, and how confidence can change your life.

Tonight’s towering rain drowned out the footsteps. Those rushed, stumbling footsteps that resemble the agility of a drunken soccer mom on a rough night. I’ve grown to love them throughout the years really, and was almost disappointed in the weather taking that away from me. No matter, professionally speaking it helped the whole ordeal go smoothly along. It’s honestly a rare treat to get off this easily, most of the time I have to get others involved and it’s all just a mess the officers gotta clean up in the morning. No one wants that, do they? So generally, the rain was a blessing in this jumble of sin.

“Get off the God Damn bus privates!” Those words were the first sounds I heard as I stepped off that old white bus that day. Today was my first day to becoming a soldier in the United States Army. The date was July 12, 2013. I was only an 18 year old teenager who wanted nothing more in life than to follow in the footsteps of my great grandfather. My great grandfather had raised me and inspired me for this journey I was about to take part in. This was the day I would start basic training. I was feeling more anxious than ever. Don’t even get me started on how nervous I was. I had never been away from home more than a few days, and here I was about to embark on a two month long journey I knew close to nothing about. I can still remember to

There are only two options in the ocean: sink or swim. America operates the same way - either you make it or you don’t. 6 years ago my family was introduced to the foster care system and I met my sisters. We were warned how “troublesome” girls could be and their behaviors, medication why they were being placed into our home. It seems as if all their lives they received the short even of the stick but not when it came to living with us. We didn’t want them to drown in the system.

I tripped and fell as fire rained down around me. My tour boat was burning and I could do nothing. I steeled my nerves as I jumped overboard into the oily water. Just before I smacked onto the surface, I woke up in a cold sweat. I had been having nightmares since the bombings of Pearl Harbor. I was utterly terrified on that day, especially as it was my first encounter with the Japanese air force. I was beginning to realize the true horrors of the war that now gripped America. I had always wanted to be a pilot, and the chance was offered through the US Air Force. It seemed awesome at first, but after the attack on Pearl harbor, I was beginning to have some regrets about my choice.

We always had five cars in my family when i was growing up. One was a Cadillac, standard of the world, my father would always remind us, a jeep, an Oldsmobile, v-8 ford that was equipped with duel carburetors, and some other brand like a Packard. The ford was a convertible and usually a bright red. He usually drove the ford for calls that he made to patients in their homes, and for driving between his two offices. His morning office was in Jerico and he went to Sheldon for the afternoon office hours. It was about eighteen miles of dirt and gravel road that separated the two offices, and driving over that road about 75-80 mph in a convertible would cause great clouds of dust that covered you and everything in the car.

It's just another painstaking day at the gym, a conglomeration of the din of exertion to the satisfying reverberation of metal clanging against metal. Striding confidently around the facility, it is effortless to ignore commiseration for the body, for clearly this must wait until the cycle is done. Reaped from all the interminable hours are of course substantial gains, and for this reason the cycle must change in order to maintain an impeccable physique. Accomplishing this goal is intrinsic enough, the system of exercises must be manipulated sporadically so as to avoid slipping into a constant routine of simplicity. Many variables are far from that manageable to govern. Too often people find themselves hopelessly adrift on whatever cycle life

I sprang up ran outside only to see everyone standing around at the bottom of the tower smoking and talking; it was just a test fire. Later that day we received a brief from the platoon that we were replacing about how things in the area had been going, and how much contact they had been taking lately. I turned to one of the privates from the unit we were replacing and asked him, “How much contact have you guys been taking lately?” He looked at me and smiled as he walked off. Our brief included a tour of the COP and all of the watch towers that we had to man at all times during the day as well as dismounted patrols through the neighboring ridgelines and villages. As the day drew to an end, I saw the guys we were replacing start to put on their plate carriers and grab their weapons to go sit near the towers. I was confused, so I asked, “Are you guys heading out now?” One of the team leaders looked at me and explained how they had been taking contact every day for the past few months at sundown. As soon as he told me I ran to go grab my plate carrier and go wait near the mortar pit with my rifle. As the sun began to set back behind the ridgeline that faced us, there was an eerily calming breeze that filled the air. For a moment I almost began to think Afghanistan would be a nice place for camping up in the mountains with your family. My short mental vacation was abruptly ended by the sound of automatic machine gun fire followed by the north tower yelling, “Contact!” before unloading into a mountainside across from him with the M2 .50 Caliber machine gun that was mounted on a tripod. My mind was overwhelmed with different reactions and feelings all at once. I was scared, pissed off, excited, and confused all at the same time. I started to panic for a second until I took a deep breath and remembered what I has been trained to do. I ran to the mortar pit and

It was a long day at school and I couldnt wait to get to get to the public pool. I used to go to the public pools every wednesday but this day was different from the others.

I remember a time in my life not too long ago when my family and I went white water rafting for the first time. We had been spending some of our summer vacation at a cabin in the Smokey Mountains, close to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The next day we would experience feelings of exhilarating excitement, with a sense of suspense and anticipation as we rafted down the Nantahala River.