Personal Narrative-Jubilant Childhood

Smoke clouds drifted in the air, as the sound of metal chains thumping against thighs echoed throughout the night. Everyone was speaking loud in line, on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting to be granted access into the concert. I felt the back of my Doc Martens getting scuffed by the person behind me, as we got closer to the front of the line. The closer we got, the stronger the scent of cigarettes and marijuana became. Now we’re in reaching distance of the bowling alley door, showing our VIP passes, I opened the door as smoke clouds flooded the ceiling into the night sky.

In the outskirts of New York, dirt filled slush clings to the white cement on a December evening. Tiny droplets of frozen water blob on the ground and melt, getting crushed by afternoon stragglers. Buildings cluster together for warmth in the biting winter chill. The structures, many tall and slim while some are squat and obtuse, line the streets of blazing horns and shouting pedestrians. The sounds of people stomping their feet before they enter busses, offices, and cars echo off each skyscraper and continue to bounce until it is too faint to be perceived. As rush hour begins to stall, two men dart into the densely populated street not caring to stop for oncoming traffic. One man is tall and thin with gangy limbs too long for his body. His eyes, dark grey flickering nonstop, are calculative, possessive, and intelligent.

The rays of cold sun escaping through the translucent clouds below resembled the clear, peacefulness below me, clearing the freshly fallen heaps of snow. After weeks of both kindness and crimes, thankfully I have witnessed no murderous intentions. My attention, although it radiates throughout the world, is focused upon a certain area in America, in which no name is exigent, however is located in a populous sector of New York. Women with baskets often thrust breadcrumbs by the handful to be, where upon they hit the ground only three count inches from her feet.

Now, he was well on his way to Washington, chasing what he had long since presumed to be nothing but a ghost story. Still, he had no anxieties or qualms about following this latest of long, winding paths. The world, after all, had its beauty, even mixed in with all the persisting misery and sorrow, and it was like his eyes had been opened to it for the first time in a long while yet. People had become so enraptured in

Men and women walking through the crowds of people seeing beautiful and hideous masks. Splashes of color all over the place. A smell of early March in New Orleans, with American flags hung all over the place. There is a feeling of freedom, as if we are all one. The flags are all lit beautifully, and hanging from the 300 year old buildings are beautiful neon blue Christmas lights. The buildings have so much character and history, that you can feel them talking to you. It is like they are wishing they could tell the millions of stories about what they have seen, and

An unsettling evening wind started to blow its way through the Central Park. The sun began to set, sending a cascade of colors streaming through the evening sky. The day had started with the normal chaos that a normal Friday had encompassed. John was having difficulty finishing the last piece of business for that day, his mind kept day dreaming towards his lovely wife and wonderful children. As he set in his chair completely exhausted in his tattered office listening to the clock that was ticking in the background, and it approached the wishful hour of five o’clock.

On Friday, March 4 around 2:15pm my friend Iris and I decided to drive around to look for a park with children interacting to start our observations. We visited around six parks that varied on their components and locations but had no luck of three children interacting with each other. Most of the them were empty and the few other ones had a few children interacting more with parents or by themselves than with other children. At this point we reasoned that children must be in school causing the parks to be empty.

Me and Sam’s room on the second floor has an aroma of quaint antiquity with old maple wood floors and pastel walls. We live in history. Sam’s family and mine joked about our room’s size and the surprise of sharing one closest, but it felt like home. After hanging up my Tupac Shakur and Snoop Dogg poster beside my Harlem Renaissance painting “Brownstone”, Sam and I said our farewells to our families and headed to dinner together in the school’s cafeteria.

Having a mature mentality, being understanding and responsible came from series of experiences. The main one, I would say is when I was about 6. A young child who understood the concept of lying but didn't dare to do it. Telling my father my mother was cheating on him gave me the lesson to mind my business. After getting punished by my mother for telling the truth, I grew up thinking I was the reason they separated until I realize at the age of 9. With the concept of minding my own business screwed in my head, my childhood wasn't the same as my friends. Long story short my mother and my stepdad (no longer my stepdad) were in a abusive relationship. The role of responsibility began during this time. My brother was born and the abuse continued. Police officers were called multiple times by me. Eventually I got tired of it, of the long nights filled with

The cartoon exposes a stark mood. The techniques the cartoonist utilizes are symbolism, labeling, and irony. The cartoon deals with the issue of mayor’s position on modern day policing crisis/Garner protestors (Darcy, 2015 clevland.com) and the tragic loss of two slain NYPD officers killed by a man who is not fond of police officer thus, “targeted” them (Worland, 2015 time.com). The two coffins covered with US flag symbolizes the fallen NYPD

My parents would describe infant me as adventurous,happy,full of energy. When I was younger I had a habit of crawling out of the crib and opening doors and my have tried to invite the mail man in a few times. When I was just learning to walk I would always open the front door when the mailman came or when my grandma thought I had ran away because I had opened multiple doors in the house and later found me playing in the backyard and later would by door knob locks to keep me from opening the doors, I believe I may have been 3 or 4 years old at the time. My favorite stuffed animal was this light brown monkey with a darker face, brown marble eyes that my mom had gotten me when she took me to the Toledo zoo when I was 4 years old I used to take

The streets of Michigan Ave. were lined with people and their children as they hurriedly rush down the sidewalks. Taxis were beeping their horns, trying to get people’s attention, men and women were just getting off of work after a long day. The sky was a light blue and white puffy clouds were spotted in the sky, there was a light breeze in the air. The water under the bridge splashed lightly against the walls, it was hard to hear over the excited chatter of the people over top of the bridge. You could smell the smoke from the cars but also there was a faint smell of popcorn from a nearby popcorn vendor cart, shops and hotels filled in what the people and cars didn’t, it was truly a beautiful sight.

The year was 1949 and there was a blur of green and blue passing by the window of a Cadillac 2-door automobile. It was a darling shade of eggshell white. In the sleek vehicle held a happily married couple and they were on their way to their nation’s capital of Washington D.C. . Elizabeth Diane Winters had the car window rolled down with her right hand hanging out, her fingers fluttering in the wind. This was their first honeymoon even though she and Adam had been together for about 3 years. They had had a shotgun wedding due to them both being called to serve for their country, and Elizabeth was excited to spend this time with Adam. They had already been in the area for a few days and had taken up residence at a lovely bed and breakfast in Williamsburg, Virginia.

We continued down the early morning streets of New York, the sun barely peeking over the towering concrete and stone giants surrounding us. Not many people were out at this time of day, and it felt as though there were even less with all the newsies absent from their usual corners. Albert had started to slow down as we got closer to the Lodging House. It was quiet, as if a strange spirit had taken over now that all the rambunctious and rowdy young boys were out causing trouble elsewhere. Even from farther away, you could still hear faint shouts in the distance rising up from the aforementioned ragamuffins. When one particularly loud uproar rose into the air, Albert yanked me up the stairs, my

We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds.