Personal Narrative: Kara My Hero

This true tale takes place in military housing at Moody Air Force Base in GA about six or seven years ago. My mother was recovering from surgery and my dad was working late. I had a taste for chocolate milk, so Kara offered to make me some. With her younger sister in tow Kara went to the kitchen

Coming to in the hospital room surrounded by the doctors was heart-wrenching and frightening. Elizabeth had never been sick for more than a day or so in her entire life, and she knew whatever happened to her would be a life-changing experience.

QP met with My-Kayla and her guardian for the first time. QP explained to them about the services that will be provided. QP explained to My-Kayla that the purpose of the session is to get to know her better. QP provided to My-Kayla and guardian a brief explanation of the goals she be working towards and what is expected of her during the sessions. QP asked My-Kayla, what she does for fun. QP asked My-Kayla to tell her a little bit about herself. QP asked My-Kayla about the behaviors she thinks she need to work on. QP asked My-Kayla about her relationship with her mother. QP asked My-Kayla about communication with her mom. QP asked My-Kayla “who she can turn to for emotional support”. QP asked My-Kayla about her relationship with her brother.

The announcer was counting down and all I could think to myself was, “Please don’t die.” Standing dead smack in the centre of a herd of men and women, all of which were whooping and hollering anticipating the starting pistol to go off. Yet, there I was, praying that my 3 months of training wasn’t going to let me down. 5 seconds to go; and there was no turning back, what laid ahead for all of us was 11 miles and 21 obstacles that were designed to test one’s mental and physical tenacity. It wasn’t a competition; it was a trial. “Here we go!” my best friend Aaron declares sportively with a nudge as the pistol goes off, and our Braveheart charge was underway.

Life always seemed more stressful in the time of the choosing and everyone knew it. When the young men and women went quiet and their demeanors changed you knew they had just celebrated their sixteenth birthday and that the choosing was upon them. Gerald had just turned this age and before he knew it the gut wrenching ceremony would be there. The choosing happened only after an individual progressed to an adult in their life. This annual event determined someone’s trade for the rest of time on the world.

Kara felt the familiar butterflies working through her stomach as she set up for today's shoot. It was an even shoot, but it was only due to the available studio time. She was hired last minute, but it didn't bother her at all. It gave her a chance to work with well-known talent and get her name on some credits later on.

I am an independent individual with my own thoughts and my own actions. Unfortunately, however, I am also a younger sister, and I would unhesitantly and mindlessly follow my older sister anywhere, whether what she was leading me to was into an established university or into an abandoned warehouse. If my older sister asked me to jump, then I would ask her how high. If my older sister told me we were going to spend our Sunday afternoon watching Aziz Ansari on Netflix, then I would bring the popcorn. We sat there, that luminous Sunday afternoon, watching the hilarious Indian comedian remind the electrified audience about the courageous travails and journeys of immigrants coming into America. My sister and I laughed as Ansari bantered about the

I’ve travelled all over this town, yet I have never seen this school before. After all, in small towns like ours, everyone knows everyone and everything about them. It’s the worst way to end my precious summer break; leaving the school I love so much along with my friends and moving to this abandoned place where all the kids fear to go. Rumour has it that the teachers here are mad. They feed off of the innocent children’s blood who dare to step foot in this dreadful place. I might be the next victim.

The familiar aroma of coffee fills the air as I enter the not so common area. I feel very bewildered in the labyrinth of hallways searching for my classroom just like I had stepped into corn maze as a child. At last, I locate the secluded room tucked away inside the massive building. Even though the number on the door matches the number on my schedule I am still second guessing if I am in the right place. The door opened up as students poured out. Finally, I took my seat at the back, trying my hardest to sit down unnoticed. My hands were shaking as I wrote the class name at the top of my paper. After what seemed like ages the professor proceeded to

My hero’s journey begun with my call to adventure to graduate high school and go on to college. When I was in middle school, I never would’ve thought that high school would be so different yet so similar to middle school. It was different because there was a lot more students and you pretty much had to be more mature about things, but you still had to work hard and earn your grade. My supernatural aid which helped me in class, were books and a pencil. Most of the knowledge we needed to understand the class was in the books, a pencil, to take notes and write essays and other written assignments. My crossing of the threshold will be when I graduate and go on to college to continue my education and earn a degree, but I wouldn’t be graduating if it wasn’t for the help I had. Some of the main people who helped me were teachers who helped me understand many subjects, and

It was dangerous to travel at night. Any manner of beast, man, or a combination of both could apparte using the cloak of darkness. Still the merchant caravan that Cait was guarding didn’t want to listen. They seemed to be in a hurry and a bit nervous, constantly looking over their metaphorically shoulder- as if they were expecting something to be coming after them. It didn’t help that one of the other caravan guards, the Centurion, assured them that it would be fine.

As I was emptying out my purse today I found an old key I used to have to my ex boyfriend, Wilson’s, house. I told my best friend, Kayla, that I had found the key and she said to go see if it still works. I insisted that I just go give it back to him, but of course I let Kayla talk me into going over there. Kayla picked me up and we drove to his house, and no one was there. What did Kayla talk me into to? Well the key worked and I’m now sitting in his room. I got really nosey and decided to look through all his drawers in his dresser, his nightstand, and his desk. I did not find anything I wanted to find. I then proceeded to look between his mattress and I found a journal. I grabbed the journal and sat on his bed and read through his journal.

In life, heros are all around us. Whether they wear a cape, a police badge, a surgeon mask, turnout gear, or a baseball cap, which reads “DAD”; they are nonetheless a hero in someone’s eye. These types of heroes and many others tend to be overlooked. A commonly overlooked everyday hero to me, is a close friend of mine named Kristen.

Have you ever felt like everyone in the class is looking at you? That was me in 8th grade, the new kid, not only to the school but to the country. My family and I had just moved from Germany to Columbus, Georgia, it was a big change in all of our lives. I sat in that class with not an a sliver of an idea of what I was doing, where I was going, or how I was going to survive this year. My shoes were not exactly the most stylish, neither were my clothes, Germany was not exactly the most fashionable country, so why would I be, I had lived there for 12 years of my life, I was 12 at the time. My teacher was Mr. Kahlouch, an old grouchy man that I would learn to not like even more as the year passed, but today he would make me stand up and introduce myself to a class where it seemed every student had already produced their own clique. I told myself that I would be okay, that it wasn’t a problem, and thought of the old cliché, “picture everybody naked.” I was ready, I walked up to the front of the class took a deep breath and went, “Hi my name is…” I woke up about an hour later, I had passed out in front of everyone in my new class at my new school, in this new country.

The low ceiling cowered above and the black plastic chairs formed a restless crowd around me. From my seat, I could smell the acute scent of cleaning fluid, whiteboard markers, and the nauseating perfume of the girl sitting next to me. Like so many other students, she exuded concentration. Her brows were drawn as her hand moved rapidly over the testing booklet, only pausing to reposition herself or cast an almost imperceptible sidelong glance. The effortlessness of her actions furthered my anxiety as I began tapping my foot uneasily against the speckled linoleum floor. Through the dusty shades that hung precariously in front the only window in the room, I could see the outline of a solitary building shadowed by the dense gray fog that clung to the courtyard outside. At that moment, I would have given anything to be able to run and scream at the top of my lungs. I had an inexplicable urge to break free from the confinement of that room and what it