Personal Narrative Fiction

One of the main themes of The Call of the Wild is that the world is kill or be killed and it is shown throughout the entire story.

in a few words, I am a person who cares about the hair that made me looking for beauty schools in USA which can give me what I want. Now, I have CERTIFICATION of ADDITIONAL TRAINING in the FUNDAMENTALS of HAIR DESIGN PROGRAM. so I decided to open my own business that gives professional touch of styling, coloring hair

"Imara!" I moaned in pain and felt my head. "Imara!" I dug into my pockets and pulled out my flashlight. I turned it on and shone it around. "Where am I?" Alister sighed in relief. "Why didn't you answer me? I thought you died." I was currently sitting in a half circle room that led only one way. "I don't know. There's only one path." I stood up expecting pain but my leg felt normal. I patted my arm and again everything was fine. "How long was I out?" I pointed my light into the tunnel. "A while."

"What does this friend of yours look like?" asked Judy, taking notes the entire time

“We need to know what happened last night, we recognize you were smoking marijuana and drinking, we believe something else caused your blindness.”

For the last eight months I have been a student-employee at the Finch-Henry Job Corps Center in Batesville, Mississippi. Job Corps is a residential training facility funded by the United States Department of Labor and operated by MINACT, Inc. I enrolled in the program to achieve my high school diploma and skills that would help me get a good paying job. There are eight vocational trades offered at Finch-Henry. I choose the Office Assistant program because I thought it was best fit for long term goals.

After several rings, the phone is answered in the master suite of Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm DeWitt.

Nell passed out trays to the customers, just like she usually did, but this time, it was quietly and sadly, not like her usual self. Even though the coffeehouse the packed full with men, the whole place was filled with sadness and despair. “Poor Mattie, why did she have to go?” cried Nathaniel, leaning over the ornate coffin.

I bite my bottom lip as I hiss, “Hmm, yes.” Shaun then gently inserted an ice cube into my soaked pussy. Immediately after placing the ice cube inside me, Shaun plunged his hard cock inside my cunt. The forcefulness mixed with the cold sensation caused me to jump as shivers ran through my body. “OH!” I screamed as I slowly rocked my hips back in place. Shaun with a firm grip on to my hips begins violently thrusting his cock in me. In and out over and over again, each thrust becoming harder than the last. The sensations of the ice freezing my cunt and the hot friction he is creating gives me a jolt of energy I never felt before. My pussy begins to tighten around his shaft as tingles of bliss swarm my twat. “Fuck yeah! More, please, fuck me

“We'll keep it casual. I'll just drop by the coffee shop a couple of times a week for a visit.”

“Debbie, how many times do I have to tell you not to hang out with those people it just makes us look poor and plain out disgusting!” her mother said as Debbie slung open the front door and began to run upstairs. “I don’t care what you say; they are and always will be my friends sorry they don’t mean your standards!” She exclaimed sarcastically from the top of the twisting stairwell. I hate this lifestyle; I don’t want to be just another executive’s kid who shuns everyone else just because they don’t live like me. She whispered lying on her bed. “Go away!” she yelled as she heard her dad violently knock on the door. So much for having privacy she thought as he slung the door open. “Why do you constantly go against what we say?” Her father asked

The voice drifted into the man’s consciousness, forcing him to open his eyes. Blinking he forced himself to focus on his surroundings. Strapped to the passenger seat he dangled across the cab, hanging into the driver’s side, which had mostly been torn away by the wall the vehicle was against. No, not a wall, the ground. He shook his head. The vehicle was on its side, crumpled with windows smashed and scattered across the cab. Blood was dripping past his face too. He reached up to the pain throbbing through his head and touched something sticky. Pulling his hand away coated in red he realized where the blood was dripping from.

Marco Diaz, now at the age of 22, walked out of his dojo when it happened.

Jonathan arrived home, dropped his bag on the ground, his shoulders sore from carrying it around all day, and began scanning his surroundings for signs of disturbance caused by his wonderful ol’ demon pal. To his surprise, he found nothing, or at least not anything that he could see at the moment. He walked to the kitchen to grab something to eat, and glanced around the room, and again found nothing that would show that Sock had been up to something while he was gone. As this was highly unusual, he guessed that the kid had probably done something in and/or to his room.

Slowly, my feet dragged behind me as I walked through the pouring rain in the streets and in my soaking wet pajamas; I had no recognition of the time that I've been out here but I did know that it was sometime in the dead morning between two and three o'clock. The only thing that I knew was that I was heading back home at a sluggish pace, shaking.