Personal Narrative: Home

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“Frank,” Gerard whispers from his bed, rustling the covers and he turns to face me. Propping his head in the palm of his hand he waits for me to respond. Which I don’t, because it’s nearly 4am, so I at least give him a loud ‘humm’. “Can I see your tattoos?” he asks like a little kid asking for candy. I nod even though he can’t see and flick on the lights. Practically blinding me. I sit up and pull off my shirt nonchalantly. It seems like a weird request for most people, but it’s happened to me so much I am overly comfortable with my body. His eyes widen and stands up cautiously, acting like if he got too close I’d bite him. Even though I only have a few, he looks like it’s his first time watching porn. He cocks his head, looking at my face, confused. “What are these?” he says, holding out his hand point, but stopping a few inches from my ear. Almost as if he was going to touch, but couldn’t. I wish he would. Not in the creepy way, I mean, I’m straight. Sure. But I wanted him to know it was okay to touch me. For the future.

Being raised my maternal grandparents; most would say that I have an “old soul”. I would always want to know who my ancestors were and what accomplishments they’ve made to society. My grandparents always stressed the importance of knowing your heritage, respecting your family, maintaining a tight bond with your family members, and carrying on the family’s legacy. I will begin with my maternal side of the family. My maternal grandmother, Kathleen Powell, is the rock and heart of the family. Her parents were Mary and Jack Taylor. Jack was from Brooklyn, New York and Mary was from Suffolk, Virginia. Jack moved down to Suffolk, Virginia to leave with a family member and for work and met Mary at a church gathering with the family friend. Jack and Mary married after dating for 3 months and had three children, Raymond, Jack, and Kathleen. They were a hardworking

When Shay made the last call for alcohol, Francisco and I had one final drink. We sat patiently at the bar while the lights came on and the staff made sure that people were exiting the building. I looked around at them in their wet clothes, and everyone was smiling. Everyone had a good time, and I felt that I was responsible for that because I'd brought Francisco. He was the best, and I was glad that I'd stopped at that car lot the other day and met him.

I sat there less than 50 yards from the Borbous River in Leslie, Missouri on the amazing 150 acres of land. Sadly though I have been left, abandoned. My loving family gone, never to return. Once they ran and played outside next to me but now I am alone. The land is overgrown, left without care. The fence that once keep out animals and other things has fallen and left me exposed. The watery air that once caused me to radiate and glisten now leaves nothing but crude marks of oxidation on my aluminum roof. I remember the days that little feet would run through my halls, the sweet smell of breakfast being cooked, and the sharp smell of whiskey being poured. Now all of those things are gone. I no longer hear those feet or smell the breakfast or the whiskey. I witnessed the children grow and leave and the parents

I am surrounded, with no food or water and I am running out of ammo. My guards were killed a couple hours ago. I don't have much time, if anyone gets this tell my family I love them.

This picture means home to me because, not only is it one of the biggest attractions in New York City but I have a connection to it that represents home to me because. I am from Queens, NY, and it was pretty much quiet I moved to Harlem a few years ago and it was a different world that I had to get become adjusted to it. When I first moved here Times Square was a big part of my life, because I now lived less then 30mins away from it so I could visit it all of the time, and there is nothing like it in Queens. I would go there every weekend to shop, eat, go to the movies etc. I created many memories there and, I’ve become familiar with the streets so I can navigate times square and surrounding areas easily as I can do in my own neighborhood

It was about 6:30 pm on a weekday evening, and I had just finished eating dinner. My mom was slaving over the sink trying to clean up the mess we had made at dinner. When I approached her with that look on my face suggesting I wanted something. She knew it right away and asked what I wanted.

I woke up with a start. Sweat was pouring down my forehead, and I was panting hard. After I calmed slightly, I raised my head. It was rather dark, only a small torch to light the room. I stood from the small bed of straw strew across the ground. I walked over the the small torch, and pulled it from its small resting place. I searched the room a bit more. Finding nothing of importance to me, I decided to leave and explore the rest of the area. I walked through the door, and ended up in a long corridor. I decided to go right consider you could see the wall that brings the left path to its end.

Lexi woke up to the smell of something delicious floating in the air. She didn’t quite know what it was, but whatever it was, it smelled delicious. She looked around to find that Logan was nowhere to be seen. A spark of fear flared inside of her as she thought about how the whole thing could have just been some wild dream. But then she looked around and saw his bedroom. It couldn’t have been a dream.

In the car ride home, I was confused myself. I was clueless as to why my dad looked so angry and my parents were bickering back and forth about something. I remember my dad screaming “I don’t fucking know why!!!” to my mom. When we got home my grandparents followed right behind us. My grandpa said to my dad “Ryan, what’s going on?” Agitated, my dad swiftly turned to face my grandpa replying “I got laid off! They told me there were too many workers, but they get rid of the guys who have been working there for years and know what they’re doing and keep the new guys they imported with no experience? I don’t understand!” My dad marched to our back steps and sat looking straight forward. Tears started to roll from his eyes. MY father revealed the teenager inside; he took his souped up Toyota pick-up and took off.

“Mommy, one day I’m going to fly.” The child said watching a bird fly up above.

The crisp air on the fall morning sprung everyone out of bed. The mounts of dew on the freshly cut grass made it hard not to hear the squelch of the mud when someone walked through it. When I was walking to the bus stop to get to school, I noticed a tall, big , and muscular man’s shadow walking directly behind me and watching my every move. I got very suspicious so I decided to pick up my paste. When I realized he picked up his paste to I knew he was after me, I turned down this long and dark alley and disguised behind the bushes. The only thing I could think of doing was to call my mom, I told that I was in danger so she told me “ remain quiet so he won’t hear you” I said ok and mumbled what he looked like so she could tell the police. As soon as I hung up I saw him pacing back in

Her smooth hair, that heart­shaped face, and those clear blue eyes. My Dear​L​eslie... my beautiful girl... It feels like putting my lips into a delicious cake. When I am ready to bite in that creamy butter and taste that hint of almond, I realize that it is all just an imagination. That moment of disappoint and emptiness is what I am feeling right now.

The land sat buried, forgotten under concrete and city lights. Within the land, buried were the souls of the people who had once lived there, stripped of identity. The bones, buried deep, had failed to withstand the tests of time, similar to their culture that was being soaked out of their communities, the modern world was consuming them. In every possible aspect, they were fading.