Personal Narrative: Home

I woke up on a warm sunny Saturday morning and went down stairs and called my friend Joey Gliech and said “Today is the day!”

I left my radio in the back room in was most likely with the volunteer who was covering for me. He yelled at me to "get up" and told me lets talk in Joshs' office (which was a few steps away). Daniel storms in Joshs' office, turns on the light and sits down in the office chair in front of the desk with his arms crossed and a sticky note in his hand. I follow him and prop the door open with the door stop is I say "lets keep the door open it's hot in here." The real reason I did this was because I was extremely uncomfortable. He then yells, "Do you want to tell me where you have been?". I was standing in the door way, not completely in the room when I told him that I met with HR. He asked very angrily who I got permission to leave from and then stated that I left my post without permission.

“Tell me, how does a pathetic, worthless, but yet intelligent person get into this mess and end up here?” Seymour asks, not really expecting an answer, but to dignify his still anger, uses his carved, smooth surface of his wooden baseball bat to strike her left knee, which has fell off for the fifth time now, since she awoken in the mysterious room. She was tired, hungry, thirsty, homesick, and yet so furious the adrenaline pumped bitter life into her and she sat, ropes to her chest, arms, and legs, thinking about life before this moment. “She gets the million dollar questions correct, but only by taking wild guesses,” she manages to say, hoping this sacred fuel will last forever. Before taking another swing at her leg, he chuckles, and then

I get up, and yawn I knew I had school today so I stumble to my feet. I knew my mother would be really mad at me. I run down the stairs as Nathan yells food is done. i beat my brother and my sister down the stairs because i knew they wouldn't save any food for me. as i ran down the steps i yelled through the door what we having…… i looked it was oatmeal with ham i stopped dead in my tracks i knew this was going to be nasty. i told Nathan i didn't want any he said oh you have to have some. i pout and say no thanks i hate oatmeal it's horse food. she picked me up and sat me on the chair. Nathan said you will not leave until all the food is gone off your plate my face gets red i always would like to think i was Tinkerbell off of peter pan cause

“You don’t need to use your eyes to see me, Samantha. Use your other senses: smell, hearing, touch. Follow the sound of my voice and the scent of my cologne; they will lead you to me.”

Head spinning and sleep deprived, my black and white-striped Adidas drag across the taupe cement floor, begging to come to a stop in front of the lockers in the backroom. The cold steals away my sense of feeling, yet my nose still manages to alert to how cold it is by allowing nasal fluids to dominate. I sniff. Today is going to be long.

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

We finally left Denver and I was excited to start a new journey-- well, I was mostly

I couldn’t believe that my summer vacation was coming to a close. I still hadn’t made any contact with Trevor. He didn’t leave a message the other night, so I had no idea where we stood relationship wise. I was still staying at Shay’s, but mom wanted me to go to her house and start dinner because she had to help Bessie with some yard work. Imani was home, but she wasn’t allowed to use the stove. My intentions were to go over, cook dinner, and get the hell out of there because I didn’t want to see Lester. I didn’t want the money that he was supposed to pay me because the entire situation made me sick to my stomach and I no longer wanted to hook up with him before I left to go back to Texas.

This story is not like any other. It stands alone. Love and hate are not spoken about, yet felt through the words. This road is long with unexpected twist and turns. Words will be left unsaid but their absence will not make a difference. This is a story that was never meant to reach the light of day. Your story is now open. Terror and joy engulf your body as you read.

A lot of people are poor and need money to support themselves, but sometimes a person really needs money to support their families so they turn into a life of crime just to help their families and get them out of poverty. I never really got a reason as to why people would steal from other people till much later in life. How I understood why people would do that was when I was 8 years old and saw a man that told me the reason why he did what he did.

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.

They where glaring at me through the window. Their eyes shining dangerously like a set of sharp daggers. I bolted upright. The sun was shining through the closed shutters. I was covered in sweat and popcorn. I looked over to the couch and saw Chris snoring softly, covered by a blanket. I sighed. Maybe I shouldn't have watched the zombie apocalypse marathon. I went over and woke Chris up, "Come on, we need to pack for camp." He sighed, and we started to pack.

Thanks for being an awesome editor! It's pretty great that I can just send you stuff like this.

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.