Personal Narrative

It was a sunny bright Friday afternoon and I was at school. I knew today was going to be the day, the day I get my new bike. After school my dad picked me up and drove home, so I can change out of my uniform and grab something to eat. I remembered my stomach feeling strange, I was so excited getting my new bike that I couldn't even eat. We went back in the car to go to Kmart. Even though Kmart was only like five minutes, it felt like I was in the car forever. I remember I was thinking of all the features my new bike was going to have.

This football game is a big deal; the scouts are coming to watch him and his teammates. It is Owen Michael’s intrinsic desire to continue to play football in college, so he hopes the scouts will like him. The game already started and his teammate passes him the ball. He catches it, and as his foot had traction with the ground, he ran until his opponents tackled him to the ground. As everyone else stood up, Owen was still on the ground. Panic ensued as people realized that he was injured.The coach was in distraught and quickly called the medic over to Owen. Owen reacted to the situation with intractability; he waved them off saying he’s fine and that he could continue playing the game. The coach said he will not able to, but Owen entreated the

A stillness settled around them, all the hospital sounds fading into the background as the enormity of Tom’s admission finally hit home. The dark-haired officer rose to his feet, his movements slow and clumsy. But as a surge of adrenaline secreted into his system, his eyes darted wildly around him and the sudden need to escape the close confines of the room overwhelmed him. “I can’t...I...I’ve gotta go!” he blurted out, and spinning around, he stumbled out the door, hot blinding tears blurring his

Elis pulled at the bandages over his arm and peeking up his neck. He walked through the halls of the medical ward until he found the room he was searching for. He hesitated, hands shaking and bile rising in his throat. His eyes were still red, as was the rest of his face. The constant rubbing made his skin raw and painful, the scrapes not helping any. He recalled the advice from that night, not to get too focused. It was lessoned he learned the hard way

It was a night resembling every other preceding it, though within it was a pivotal moment directing me on a path to a world of medicine. As the rays of light began to recede and the sounds of the crickets chirping resonated louder with each passing minute, there I sat upon the curb watching my younger family members race back and forth across the gravel in pursuit of earning their team a goal. The parents stood idly by conversing with one another, failing to notice when a particular young boy tripped on one knee with great force. Slowly he stood as the other players on the field continued playing without a glance towards their injured teammate. Turning in the opposite direction he walked to a secluded area, slumped down, and bowed his head while cupping his knee. Approaching him, I noticed there was the faint sound of sniffling. Bending down I asked if he was hurt and at last he raised his head, still holding on to his knee. Putting on a brave face he responded with a resolute no.

His shoulder was thrown in reverse and twisted, and left by his body which was driving forward almost completely leaving it behind. He jerked back as if the force would spring his arm back into place. Gravity took over his knees forcing them to buckle and hit the ground. Some might say he looked like newborn deer, fresh out the womb. His arm was left hanging with barely any support at all. His only support was his hand holding it closely to his side as if he could protect it from further harm. His arm looked like a gummy worm...except more flimsy. The adrenaline took over his body like a built in anesthesia, taking his mind off of the pain only for a short time. he didn 't even bother getting up as the other players scrambled to the huddle

On 10/02/2017 at 0017 hours, units were dispatched to 627 Central Ave for a report of a Domestic involving a knife. I responded at emergency speed, priority one. Upon my arrival, I located the accused female in the bathroom.

I'd like you to read about a local quarterback who died last year from a lacerated spleen. The injury was not preventable by normal standards, but is no less traumatic.

The whistle blows, and the crowd stands and cheers as the soccer game comes to a close. Martin limps off the field as he looks down at his swollen ankle. He can barely stand up, but he could not care less about his injury. All that matters to him is the victory. His team made history by advancing to the fourth round of the playoffs. He found a way to push through the pain and win. Martin was left with a sense of euphoria as he celebrated with his teammates.

Crumpled newspapers scattered the table like the bones of dead bodies after war. Windows wiped down of memories huddled between oak frames, facing a street with cosy cottages. Single embroidered carpets hugged the floor, covering the marble tiles in delicate silk. A whisper of wind floated in through cracks of the panes of glass, whispering it's songs of misery throughout the house. I breathed in gulps of air, allowing the icy coolness to fill my lungs, and the morning frost creep out. My glistening blue eyes presented purple bags, and my sleek hair was a tangled cobweb. My feet dragged along the stone floor like the walking of the undead. I’d been up all night, searching and seeking for answers.

It had been twelve days since the accident, and with every minute that had passes Jordan thinks he’s getting closer to losing his mind. His chest had constricted when he had seen her limp, doll-like form stretched out on the operating table, the beep of the machine the only thing giving any sign of her still living. The doctors’ faces had been grim, telling him that she had a chance, but it was a slim

“ It’s going to be fine, Asher Simmons. You’re going to be alright,” the doctor stated calmly and clinically. Ashley lied pale on the bed as she was being rolled into the hospital. Her vision blurry; the sounds of whirring machine and wails of her family in the background indicated where she was. Glimpses of her surroundings flashed before her eyes. Ashley was paralysed; a wave of gratitude and relief swept over her. Like everything in her life she was worried that the poison would be a disappointment, but now she was thankful knowing her death wouldn’t also be a failure.

It's been an interesting year so far, and it looks like it is about to get even more interesting (more about that in a moment). What I wanted to write about in this here journal of mine is a new brand of shoe that I just purchased; they are called Nike running shoes, and I love them. They fit well, are comfortable and seem like they will last quite a while. I just had to have a pair (I think I'm the first one here at school to have them most of the other students have never even heard of them; Neanderthals, I know!). I predict they will be a big hit in the future. Okay, enough about shoes, let's move on to more serious matters, my love life! (just joking journal I have no love life right now). Oh well, I haven't written in here for the past few weeks, I guess I better talk about the events of the month. Let's see, it's October 1962 and a number of events have taken place; some here at the University of Mississippi, some in the United States and some internationally. Many of these events will likely have long-term impact on some very serious matters. Of course, I did not think any event would foreshadow James Meredith being admitted into the University, but, the first Negro being admitted into a higher education institution is an event that has only national implications, while the missile crisis in Cuba, could lead to death to thousands or even hundreds of thousands of citizens in both the United States and in Russia.

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

Imagine a player of a sports team going down after a huge play. The player does not get up. They lay there, holding their knee and crying in pain. The trainer, coaches, players all rush toward