Personal Narrative Essay: Colin's Story

It was a fine Sunday Morning. I was about to experience a fun day of baseball. It was a beautiful afternoon for a trip to the ballpark. I could hardly wait to get there to experience all of the fun things. I was with my brother and his girlfriend and my two nephews and me.I got there by car with my brother's girlfriend and me and my nephew. When we got there we went to the park there and played on the playground. Then we headed up to our seats which were all the way at the top ,one of the best seats in the house. I went down to the concession stand and my brother gave me $20 to buy three pops and a small pop for my nephews and me. The guys who comes to you and give you the ice cream and stuff. we got slushies

Last year, in October during the cheerleader’s concert, that my mom and dad were singing at, I asked, “Do you want to dance?” My mom said, “yes”. Walking out to dance, she fell and accidently tripped me and landed on my ankle. It felt as if someone was breaking my leg in half. It got really numb where I couldn’t feel it, but I still knew I was in some pain. Picking me up off the ground, my mom sat me on the bleachers. Everyone came over there and it was really embarrassing. My dad carried me to the car and we drove to the dollar store to buy me an icepack to put on it.

Once upon a time there were three ugly witches on Cat Lane. They were taking a pumpkin at 292 Cat lane and it was a cat punkin they took and they cast a spell to the punkin. They went another house nearby Cat Lane and took all of their pumpkins and cast a spell on them. Then on Halloween they brought all the pumpkins back to all their houses and they had a spell so when someone walked by they got the spell and turned into a zombie. So there were these five little kids and they were going to get candy at 292 Cat Lane and they walk by the pumpkin and they all turned into a zombie. Then, they went to these group of people walking by and he touched all of them then then the one kid Matt said

Cameron Academy, the place where it all started for me. The first ever school that I had gone to. It was the place where I learned to fear anyone older and bigger than you because the teenagers there were not above fighting kindergarteners. Where I learned that the safest place to be after school was the office because the fights between the police and the students that took place outside on the front steps of the school were too brutal for me to witness; at least that's what my mom told me. That school was the place where I learned to be ashamed of any art that I may produce, to always keep it to myself, lest I be laughed at by the teachers. Cameron Academy is where I learned that “bad” kindergarteners who were in Ms. Valorie’s class got beat up.

Summer of 1994. New York City smelled no different than hot rat piss and looked accordingly. Fresh off my 15th birthday and wandering the Brooklyn streets with Hakeem, we followed the music wherever it played. Our community cherished music through constant airplay. Anyone with loud speakers, either in their car, apartment, or boombox, blared any of the anthems from the future greats. Whether it's Nas, Wu-Tang, Biggie, or Tribe, the list is blissfully endless. Hakeem’s brother, a well-connected music promoter, gave Hakeem two tickets to this secret show he was putting on for Ice Cube, who, despite being the first notable west coast rapper, carries a rage within him that the east coast entirely recognizes.

“I’m trying,” the Kidd snarled. “But this miserable bird wants to put his tail feathers in my face.”

There was one day in the summer of my 7th grade year, it was a little different than others because I was about to head to Orlando, Florida to play baseball. This was a very exciting time for me and my entire team because we had worked so hard to get to this very moment at this very tournament. After a short flight we arrived in Orlando. This was a great sight because you could see ESPN World WIde of Sports complex from a mile away. This was a start to an absolutely great time and tournament in Florida.

“My mamma ate bad. My grandma ate bad. Now, the food was good, so good, but you know it’s like soul food, so it’s not that good for you. My mamma had diabetes too. I’m sure grandma did too, but she didn’t go to the doctor ever. She couldn’t afford it. I can though. That’s how I found out I had diabetes. I got it from them, of that I am sure.”

This summer, I took a shopping trip to target for a late night snack attack. Before checking out at the cashier stand, I strolled through the one dollar spot. If there’s anything I’ve gained from my mother, it's to never ignore a good deal. It was mainly cheap plastic toys for kids but, yet something caught my eye. A Dr. Seuss section, filled with little metal lunch boxes, pencil pouches, sippy cups, and pencils. From Green eggs with ham to One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. I immediately started sifting through these goodies. Dr. Seuss had been the foundation to my reading journey. Reading all his books since I was six. For Dr. Seuss to fit into my epiphany moment, let me give you a brief but important background to me, Belinda Coronado.

“Hey, caption needs us to come to her office,” called out Ryker my field partner. He then headed towards the captain Calvert's office.

Drenched in sweat, legs tired, heart pounding, and the finish line in sight. I needed to cross it, even if I end up crawling to accomplish my goal. My scheduled event that day was only for the 100-meter dash, but my coach picked me to also run the 400-meter race. I couldn’t let my team down. The last leg of the race was rough. Fortunately I successfully made it through. My drive to succeed gave me strength to do so. This drive and determination has stayed with me all my life.

Victoria was startled awake at the sound of her alarm clock. She looked at the time and it read 6:00 AM. Four hours earlier she was gazing at the alarm clock trying to fall asleep. Today was the day that she would go to the state-wide art competition to win it, once again, and receive a scholarship to the Rhode Island School of Design. She put on her elegant black lace dress, and her peep-toed cheetah flats. Her golden blonde hair was falling over her shoulders like the snowflakes outside on this early December morning. She put on her favorite gold necklace the one she wears everyday, grabbed her portfolio and cup of coffee and headed out for Chicago for the art competition.

Maddie went to the house and knocked nobody answered so Maddie rang the doorbell then a man answered

brain scrambles for a reasonable explanation for the voice that wasn’t mine. The voice had been deep and scratchy, like the owner had swallowed a dozen razor blades and coughed them up again. It definitely does not belong to anyone I know so this can’t be a prank.

I lived in a large, goth house on the outskirts of Wimbledon, Massachusetts. My family and I had called this house our home for nearly 18 years. In our home there was constantly something happening, but none of which we were responsible for. Doors flying open and shut, voices yelling, stomping. Everything in the house scattering. I was alone there a lot because both my parents worked which means I cared for the house. I was constantly petrified.