Personal Narrative-Le Brochet

It is true in life that everything happens for a reason. It is also true to say that sometimes it is all about being in the right place, at the right time. There was never a more prominent example of this than a traumatic summers evening, only a few years ago.

For two more weeks I remained in the hospital. Three times every day a nurse brought me a tray with a meal and medication. She watched as I swallowed the tablets, but never as I ate the meal. Compared to a normal sized portion of food, what I was given in hospital would be considered small, but my stomach was far too used to rations beyond small. Most days I was able to eat almost half a plate of pasta before my stomach rebelled and decided to throw it all back up again.

The night was another quiet one , the morning even more quiet . No more family sit downs at the table , just coffee brewed from whoever wakes up first and help yourself to breakfast. I sat outside the porch with my coffee , first day of October with the fall feeling in the air , I was looking at nothing , I pulled out my cell phone and decided it was time to tell Trever my input on who is doing this. I heard his phone ringing , but it went straight to voice mail , I left a long message explaining everything , hoping this will get him to look into her.

On a Saturday morning, around 10am, my family was getting ready for my niece’s (Maritza) 4-year-old birthday party. After 12:30pm we were already at my sister’s (Adele) house, ready to give my niece a hug and her annual present. At the moment Maritza wasn’t home, so I stalled for a bit. Chatted with their neighbor, few high school friends, and their wife’s. Finally, she showed up along with her father. The first person she hugs is me, I’m her favorite uncle, according to her, as she hugs my legs and looked up and says, “hey uncle J.” I replied “hey?” with a bit of a curiosity on my mind. Her lip had a big red lump. I managed to not ask her what had happened on her lip. I’m thinking it’s a “I fell down” type accident. The party went off, and

I rush into my home and run up the stairs to my room. I jump on my bed and roll over to my laptop and open it quickly. I log onto the One Direction site and see that I made it in time to see the bid. I scroll and try and find my name and I see I'm in third place for the tickets and the time is running out. I've already bid $7000 for three tickets and backstage passes. The reason it's so expensive is because these passes are the last set of passes for their concert. 5sos is also playing so we would be meeting two bands and hearing both of them play.

*disclaimer: bare with me... the next 5 chapters are crap because i wrote them over a year ago...chapter 19 will be the start of some great shit*

Ignoring me, he continued, "She broke up up with me because I bought her a simple neclace for her birthday not the diamond bracelet she wanted."

Source K is supported by Source L because it gives a descriptive insight into how people in lower class English society lived during the Victorian era. Source L helps us to imagine what the narrow passage and the inside and outside of their house looked like. For example, Sims writes; “The walls are damp and crumbling the ceiling is black and peeling off, and the floor is rotten and broken away in places and the wind and the rain sweep in through gaps that seem everywhere”. This descriptive quote written by George Sims in an article named “How the poor live”, gives us an insight of how the majority of the lower class English people lived, thus giving us a more descripted visual representation of what poor people in English society lived like.

Mark Depsey III is the president of the country club social committee, making him and his wife ranked at the top of the socialite hierarchy.

I noticed it was getting harder to finish assembling my gun; I was losing the outside light. The sun was already setting, even though it was just after three. I remembered when I had gone to Middle School, during winter, of having to walk through Arkham's icy atmosphere instead relaxing in the warm luxury of riding in the car, which we'd sold to defray, in part, another of the old man's expeditions, this time to Nepal in search of the legendary Plateau of Leng. Such dangerous destinations meant nothing to me at the tender age of thirteen, of course, except in that I could no longer bask in the warmth of the Nexus's heater.The Eastern horizon would be barely beginning to lighten by the time I reached the gate. I got home just after

It was a quiet, cold Tuesday night, deep in British territory. I was with my Italian squadron, Cani da Guerra; our objective was to take out the front line of enemy British soldiers. My best friend and I were on recon, trying to spot enemy movement. The rest of my squadron was sleeping in cold, dark trenches lined with barbed wire. They’d recently been filled with poisonous gas, becoming a temporary grave for many British who lay helpless, rotting away. My best friend, Sebastian, was a spotter with me. It was twelve thirty-five, time for my shift to begin while Sebastian was sleeping.

When traveling to London from urban areas created overpopulation in the city, and increasingly horrendous conditions, the move to a more prosperous land seemed more and more inviting. This idea was further enhanced by the works of English Richard Hakluyt in novels such as The Principal Navigations, Voyages, and Discoveries of the English Nation, and Voyages, where readers were given false insight into a vastly successful New World, theoretically open for prosperous settlement. Those which moved to London with abortive attempts to find work, or which experienced the scarcity of food/land supplies between 1580 and 1650, found these inviting opportunities as an escape to otherwise, inevitable poverty. Conversely, those living in stable, prosperous societies, with satisfactory social statuses, were less likely to be motivated by the influential works of Richard Hakluyt and the overall conquest of America.

We halted on the red damp dirt coating the rusty tracks, suddenly to a halt and leaned forward. The peeling crust of iron was heard to be scratching with the train, but we were were all anxious to see Bourke for what it had said to be. We all walked out with emptied pipes and some with wandering minds lurking in waves of colourful vivid colours. People told you the heat was glazing and the land was dry. The heat was. The land wasn’t. I would’ve like to sat down on the ground, but the ground was completely destroyed by damp sand. The heat was unbearable with sun rays gleaming on our faces. The only building near in sight was the public house centred a couple of miles. We all followed the man at the front who looked like he knew what he was doing.

Performing Arts Company, the theatre program through Gull Lake, is an okay place to be. People get to show off their talents, express themselves, and there’s obviously an awful lot of messing around. When we aren’t being absolutely and completely productive and professional, we play, and screw off as most clubs do. There's dozens of inside jokes that if most people heard them they would completely question what even goes on at PAC. My two favourite running jokes are from the Mook Mook/Neff Neff fiasco, and the “What does a year taste like?” craze. The Director, Mr. Jonathan Kind, is extremely done with the “What does a year taste like?” joke and he's beginning to scare me a little, so I'll just explain Mook Mook/Neff Neff.

Good to hear from you. It has been too long. My son just turned 3 this weekend, so he is more than just running around these days. He is giving me a run for my money. We had a baby girl back in Feb, so I’ve got my hands full between the two of them. Sounds like things are going good for your family. Change is usually a good thing, even though it can be difficult.