Personal Narrative

I was 6 years old as I heard another fight between dad and mom. This time it was unbearable to hear so I went to my room and curled into a corner to cover my ears. No matter how much my tiny hands pressed on my ears I could still hear my dad and mom yelling at each other. All of a sudden, I hear a loud noise and the yelling stopped. I run to their room, terrified of what I might see. I was right to be terrified because I can see my mom on the ground with her hand on her red cheek. Then the monster of my dad grabs her and hits her again.

Sitting in a hospital waiting room, alone, afraid; and waiting for the news; would she be ok? Would she even survive? My nerves were out of control; my heart was beating through my chest, you could literally see it thumping through my top. The beads of sweat racing down my forehead, as if I was in the middle of the Safari dessert. I have been an athlete my entire life, yet I have never felt so physically drained. I look around, my eyes opening, then closing; as if I am coming in and out of consciousness, then suddenly echoed words begin to ring around my ear drums….” Sir…...sir, can you hear me? Sir please, we need to know what happened. We need to know what happened to her. Maybe my motionless state showed my

When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.

I been through a lot to be of assistance for this awesome police officer in Chicago, Illinois. I went through being distributed from Cupertino, California to Chicago, to being manufactured in South Korea, being made into many different parts to be an intermediate good, and being different parts as a raw material. I’m starting with who I am ,I am a iPhone 7 Red.{I know, I know, I am fancy} I am with this officer where I go all around Chicago with my owner Officer Jentson and we go fight crime and help other around our community. I came to Officer Jentson through the FedEx mail. I originally came from different parts of the world. Before I got to Officer Jentson I was in Cupertino, California going through the distribution process, that process

I arrived at practice with my shoes laced, hair pulled back, and the mindset that I was unstoppable. I could play against every member of my team and come out the victor on any given day. It was the first day of practice that week, and challenge matches were scheduled to begin. The team went through our daily shuffle of drills, conditioning, and running to prepare for what was lying ahead. While warming up with my friends, I felt great, talking about homecoming, boys, and a variety of irrelevant events. I felt ready. The odds were in my favor and nobody could stop me.

“Dover, want some Wendy’s?” Amy stated in a casual pitch. Dover knows his name, so he will give some kind of response, usually, but there was nothing.

Every student is excited when school starts. New classes, new backpacks, new clothes, and seeing all your friends is a part of this excitement. The first few weeks are new; no homework, plenty of free time, etc. But after two or three months, school isn’t cool anymore. The homework piles up, the tests are being printed, but how much stress can you take before it’s too much?

The front lawn of Valdosta State hardly looked like a lawn, but more like a flea market on Saturday afternoon or a carnival on a Saturday night minus the rides. There were so many people there I could barely pick out one conversation because the roar of the crowd was so overwhelming. As I approached the hectic scene I seemed to be swallowed by the swarm of people around me and continued to travel in the same direction as them. I began to feel the beat of the music in my body, the booming in my chest felt as though my heart was racing and then the unfamiliar beat became clear to me. I continued shuffling my feet in the grass and could feel the warmth from the sun heating my skin. I could hear the excitement from the student’s voices when they received a free souvenir. I also listened to the workers from the booths advertise their business saying where they were located and what extraordinary deals they had to offer. From then on I began paying more attention to the booths themselves. A majority of them were plastered with their logo and surrounded by bright colors to grab the student’s attention and more often than not, it worked.

Sunshine. Endless amounts of fun. Water. It was about that time again, summer! My favorite season, no school and my birthday was in it. This summer was especially great, my dad was coming home he was in the military and I hadn't seen him in eight months. It was about a regular summer day with my family, when my parents thought of heading down to the beach. I was thrilled this beach was one of my favorite places to go in the summer. It was not only just a beach but, it also had a large park with big blue swings, a tennis court, and large grass area for people to have picnics. And were the beach and the park split of there were tall ginormous rocks so people could watch the boats and ocean. I was so excited and on top of that my mom told me that

My dad was a considerably strong sergeant in his time. During the Vietnam War, his last battle, he was taking cover behind an old abandoned shed when someone came around from behind and shot him four times in the back. Worst news ever, but worst of all was the month after when I received word that my mom was struck in an explosion and that she might not make it. I held out hope till the final word but deep down inside I knew that I wasn’t gonna see her again besides in her grave. After all the pain and anguish I was feeling, I knew I had to come back to reality and find a way to survive as a thirteen year old girl in a cold and bitter war zone.

She's got the black plastic of a cutting knife handle gripped in her palm. Beige-painted fingernails glisten under the scrutinizing lights of our glazed kitchen; a classy and neutral color, like herself. She's grinning in concentration, a thin upward-curving line shaping her lips.

I remember my dad yelling at me to go back in the room and saying “mind my own business.” I became mad, I felt like they put me in their business. I stayed right where I was. My dad started to walk out of the house to leave and my mom began to ran after him. After she grabbed his arm, my dad turned around and pushed her up against the door. Her back was shoved into the door knob and she fell to the ground. I ran over there and got between them and pushed my father away. He ran outside and got in his car and drove away. I never seen someone whip out of the driveway so fast. In the background I hear my little sister crying in my room. My father came back a couple minutes later crying and asking for forgiveness. That was the scariest moment of my life. I felt helpless, I could not protect my mom.

On last Friday, I went to Millennium Park at 7:30 P.M. to see the lyric opera to enjoy Friday night with my girlfriend. As Professor told us, I brought wines, glasses, and a blanket to seat down on the park. I arrived there at 7'o clock. I could see a lot of people crowded in that area; some people brought their tea table, chairs, foods, and wines. While I was surprised on what I saw, I tired to find our seats to see the amazing opera that thrilled me over the weekend.

“How may I help you?” The words have been recited a thousand times to a thousand different people. After a certain amount of time saying the same words with a smile so fake it would make Barbie proud, it begins to become a sort of second nature. Even someone as shy as I am could do it with no problem.

I couldn’t take it anymore, so I got up from my chair, feeling faint from all the hits. I fell towards the ground and blacked out for about five minutes. Once I had gained consciousness, using as much strength as I could, I stood up, shaking a little from the pain. Without saying goodbye to my parents, I dragged my feet towards the front door, grabbed my bag, and headed out to my office in Anaheim. Yes, I was in an abusive relationship with my parents that has lasted six years. They always liked to compare me to my very successful