Personal Narrative-Home

Inside the ambulance, Roy was relieved to find John’s vitals were unchanged when he rechecked them. Although he had hoped they would improve with the IV, at least they weren't getting much worse.

The swish of the basket marks another point for my team. We cheer, and I go to high five Lauren who's closest to me.

Daniel's bemused expression said more than words. His eyes swept across the room, and his brows furrowed slightly. The dark gray walls were painted bright yellow. Baby animal decals replaced the Amsterdam posters.

"Scarlett, he will be back. As will the others. Right now, we have the living to care for. We must save them first." It was as if my thoughts had been heard.

I turned over the letter and saw that papa had written “open your eyes Bruno.” Almost as a hint that I needed to pay attention to what the letter had to say, if only my dad had got right to the point in the first place. I didn’t have much time to finish reading the letter, so I put it on my pocket for later.

“Hmmph! WHERE ARE THE PLUGINS THAT I WANT!?” My manager’s words resonated through my body and my eyes started to flare. My fingers nimbly typed out the words that would lead me to a comforting place. I dove into the world of coding languages where the limit’s the sky and I knew how to fly.

I wipe my sleeve along the muck covered window. Watching the people rush around trying to get to places, for some odd reason it soothes me. Shema, Cardo, Scien, Lud, and Tarsel fill the street. They walk shoulder to shoulder. The Tarsels keep to themselves and hang their heads as they walk along the crowded sidewalk.

The West side of New York is busy at this time of day, specifically Virginie Scott park,

In the second grade I experienced my first nose bleed. It was quite traumatizing; I can distinctly recall the sudden sensation of warm blood wetting my lips and trickling down my throat. All of this was made worse by the fact that I met such a fate not by my own carelessness, but at the hands of another; a little boy named Alex, who pushed me down in a game of tag. Of course, I cried, and once Alex realized the harm he’d caused, he cried too; although I’m sure a fraction of him did feel sorry for the harm he’d inflicted, I think an even bigger fraction was terrified at the idea of being reprimanded. And though his utterances of “I’m sorry” were likely not without some sincerity, in that moment, I was so furious that I didn’t care. I promptly

Once again my location had changed. This time I was on an open terrace. I was still decked out in my ancient Middle Eastern garb. Adeline was next to me. I couldn’t move though. When I tried to move my arms up to brush the hair away from her face, my arm wouldn’t move. I moved my head around. I saw that all of my ligaments had been slashed. The wounds were still fresh. The sultan was on his knees begging for his life. King Rashad, my brother in this part of my dream, was sitting on his throne in front of the sultan. My brother looked at me. His face turned into a sad battle of emotion. He looked back at the sultan who was on his knees between two guards. They both had large blades at the end of long shafts. The ruler started to cry. Rage filled

It's the smell that hits you first. As you lug open the big and awkward, reddish-brown-painted door decorated with its tired hinges, that creak like the moaning of difficult and crabby old men, a puff of the sweet, old and bad-smelling odor of last summer's straw presses from your first, slow breath into your nose. Then you detect the undertones: the hot and humid, snobby musk of animal fur and the sharp smell of old, oily metal and machinery. Soon after the smell, your eyes make up for the dim paleness of light, and you begin to make out the shapes of dusty frames of wooden stalls and poles, and the heavy chest of the loft that hangs from the ceiling.

I woke up from my slumber that felt like I’ve been sleeping for a thousand years. The aching, sore muscles that had built up on my body from the past three days had all vanished. I rose from the bed and went to the dining room, but there--standing in the middle of the room was General Zaroff.

My eyes shutter as a sliver of bright light casts itself over my sleep deprived being, waking me up from my oasis. My shoulders rotate towards my back as my arms reach over my head stretching towards the sky, and make there way back to my sides again. I muster all of the energy my drained body can provide and slowy sit up, leaning on my forearms. My eyes pan across my sanctuary one last time before I get out of my inviting bed, and mentally prepare myself for the twelve hours to come.

“Come with me ladies, you can make your way to the Blue Room, and Trey, our tattoo man will be right with you.”

I wake up slowly, like I am immersed in a weird combination of honey and crunchy peanut butter. I’m in no rush to open my eyes but I do anyway, I have to. Slipping into the same white clothes I wear everyday, I glance into a mirror and my eyes widen at the sight. My blond hair is a tumbleweed on my head and the only good thing about it is it takes attention away from my brownish green eyes that I despise. I rake a brush through my hair furiously, my pale nose scrunching up in pain every time I hit a knot. Giving up halfway through though, I realize that nobody cares. I lay the brush down on the dresser and stride out of my room. Lost in my thoughts, I bump into someone halfway to my destination. I’m about to exclaim my apologies when the victim