Personal Narrative: Jake

It was a sunny and hot day outside and we were getting ready to go out for recess. I was sitting at my desk waiting for my teacher to tell us to line up. As she told us it was time we all ran to be first in line for going outside. When we got outside I wanted to play football and so did a few other kids. We had 7 people and we needed one more person to make it fair. There was only one other kid that could play and his name was Jack. Jack was a new kid who didn’t really have friends and wasn’t very coordinated, so when we asked him, he was hesitant on his answer but said yes. We had to teach him a bit about how to play, but he new some of it. Jack was on my team and the other team kicked off first. When we tried to return it, Jack just stood

Baghdad, Iraq is where I was born and raised; I lived there for about 6 years during the most pivotal years of the war. My dad left when I was about 7 months. He went to Lebanon to live for a few years before settling in the United States. My mom took care of me and my siblings. War was going on in Iraq; people walked with a dying heart. Iraq was split into Shiite, Sunni, and Christianity. Sunni and Shiite do not have any issues with one another, but there are people who do not like the Shiites and caused civil strife between the two divisions of Islam. My family is Shiite and we do not believe in a separation between anyone because we are one, they are

As I took those few daunting steps from the elevator doors to through the white frosted doors of the Ear, Throat, Nose Surgical Ward, I thought to myself It’s time to grow up Emma! I remember stepping into a room about the size of a small classroom and going straight into a gross brownish-puke lumpy chair and sitting down on my everso shaking hands to conceal from both my mom and dad who stood up at the big front desk talking to middle age woman sitting behind it. I was only able to see the top half of her face, which reminded me of Wilson from Home Improvement. When they were done my parents came to sit down with me. My mom on my right and my dad next to her. After what felt like hours of waiting...and waiting...and waiting, a middle aged

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

For the first ten years of my life, I had a very normal childhood. I went to a private catholic school in a small town called Westwego. We were about twenty five minutes south of New Orleans. During the summers, friends and family would come over to our house and we would all swim and boil seafood. The summer of 2005 was no different; I was looking forward to entering 5th grade. Fast forward to one week before school is about to start when Hurricane Katrina formed in the Atlantic Ocean. Hurricanes were no strangers to us as we have been through several throughout the years. However, a few days later the storm is upgraded to a Category 3 and is predicted to hit New Orleans dead on. My parents felt it was time for us to leave and we traveled

I started playing volleyball in 3rd grade. My dad wanted me to play because my sister also played. It was my first day being a 3rd grader and my dad told me I should get into volleyball. From there I wasn’t sure if I wanted to play. I watched my sister play every game and it looked like it was hard so I didn’t think I could do it.

I go to the woods to calm down ,take a break from the drama. My dad used to take me to this special spot where these rocks split and you can stem to the top of them and sit down. For some reason the view and the feel is so peaceful. There's a dip in the rock perfect size for my body. I'll kick back and look up at the sky and sometimes, it’s rare though i’ll listen to music and sometimes fall asleep and when I wake up i'm refreshed and calm. Sometimes i'll stay there after i'm calm and just chill and sometimes if a friend comes over well sometimes go over there and we'll play around on the rocks and talk and after a little bit of hanging out we will go back inside and play my PS4 for a little bit and after the gaming we are still bored we

His eyes are made for the road. Two tornado blue irises meet the highway, looking past the smudges on his lightweight frameless glasses. He shifts his hands along the steering wheel, dodging what hurts most. Noting which movements prevent his worn hands from freezing into twisted positions like cream flowing into black coffee. He wheezes a cough. Loses stability. Regroups. Accelerates.

I was not an intentionally bigoted twelve-year-old. I was raised in an affluent suburban community where the vast majority of people are white. The 100% white private nursery school which I attended was chosen by my parents largely due to its proximity to our home. My public elementary school was about 70% white as it was populated with students who resided nearby. Finally, the private middle school which I attended, located almost an hour from my home, provided me with exposure to the most diverse student body of my youth as it was comprised of about 65% Caucasian children. What each of these formative academic experiences shared in common was both that their student bodies were disproportionately Caucasian, as well as that their senior administrators

It was 2:00 AM and I was working 3rd shift that night, it was lonely and dark. I was the only one here. As I sat in silence the phone rang I picked it up not expecting anyone to be calling because I haven’t had a call in years. When I picked up the phone all I hear is a deep soft whispering, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Every second the whispering got louder and louder until there was a high pitch screaming. I slammed the phone down on the receiver with a rush of adrenaline. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like it was going to burst, (the reader takes a deep breath to build suspense) agin I sit in silence, waiting for something to happen. I was so paranoid I didn’t know what to do, my mind was racing, do I leave or do I

“We don’t have anytime time to waste today guys, get moving!” my mom announced. My brother was coming today and she wanted the house to be spotless. We had just started fall break and I was in the fourth grade. I was playing games and relaxing like any 10 year old would do. My dad was lounging on the couch watching some show, and my siblings were running around. By then I had only 5 siblings, 2 sisters and 3 brothers. We had known for a while that Johnny, age 9 at the time, was coming to live with us, what we didn’t know was that he would bring with him a fish. I was happier than a child opening presents on Christmas. The fish was a beautiful white male betta with long flowing fins. He lived in a small 1 gallon tank with blue pebbles, pointy

I am a rather complex individual, but one quality that stands out about me is that I am very passionate. While I am passionate about many subjects, I have great passionate for a select few. First, I am very passionate about entertainment. For as long as I can remember I have always adored television shows, movies, and books. As soon as school let out I would rush home to watch Thundercats with my oldest brother, Mark. During my school vacation, I would spend my time reading. Therefore, my mother said it was hard to keep up with purchasing books for me to read. When my family went to the mall they knew I could always be found in the book store. Finally, I am passionate about Comic Conventions. My oldest brother introduced me to a convention

I do not belong to an American lineage. I originate from the beautiful country of Nigeria, in West Africa. My grandfather once told me a special enlightening statement that I will never overlook. “Life without knowledge of one’s roots is useless. Once you truly begin to learn and experience your roots, your perception of life fluctuates.” Nigeria is the home of over 500 languages. My grandfather can speak and comprehend English, French and my tribal language Yoruba. 10 years ago, my family held a reunion in Nigeria. Every individual family member there communicated by speaking in French and Yoruba, however, I stood there bewildered.

I remember when I was a little girl so innocent and carefree, everything was just so enjoyable. going to the lake the smell of the fresh clean air, the sight of clear flowing water and the laughter of my sisters and I. I was the youngest of three sisters (no brothers). my sisters always protected me and always showed me how much they loved me. well we all grow up as a child you have no worries and no clue of the realities of life ahead until we are "Grown" .

February 4, 2007 was a day of celebration for my whole family. That day my family gathered around in the living room and cheered on the Colts to victory in the Super Bowl. This day was the anticipated highpoint of my school conversations for the past week. My dad was in his leather chair drinking his favorite Raspberry Snapple Tea. My mom, siblings and I were crowded around on leather couches in our living room. We were all close in age. I was ten years old in fourth grade, my sister was eleven in fifth grade, and my brother was thirteen in sixth grade. I didn’t understand football that much as a fourth grader, but I always looked forward to the Super Bowl commercials. I still remember one of the commercials that affected me the most. In the