Personal Narrative: Machete

It was a cool November day, in the middle of Afghanistan. As a medic, I was sitting outside my make shift aid station with one of my buddies sharing stories about home. We hear a loud explosion right outside of the wire. I looked up and could see the cloud of smoke billowing up from about two hundred meters away. Not knowing how bad the situation was, I grabbed a few of my soldiers, our translator and my aid bag and ran straight to the smoke. When we got there, a group of civilians were huddled around a group of people who were yelling, screaming and crying. The translator found out that a group of three men and three children were walking around a field when one of the children stepped on a mine. One of my soldiers grabbed the mine

Staring at blank space in the dark. Tucked under my covers, tear stains on my face. Red as a tomato itself. I couldn't comprehend why was I was being punished. I did everything right, everything that you could think of. Mistakes were made here and there but as for myself, I was a good person. I know that everyone's worried. Till this day I cried and cried every night to a cold empty pillow where he use to lay wondering how. Memories floods my mind with every object that comes across my sight. Reminiscing as if it were yesterday. In my 2014 Chevy Malibu laughing, enjoying what God created. I smiled, a smile that stretched across my face as the cool autumn breeze kissed my skin. Staring at the most beautiful human being I could ever imagine.

I was designated out of necessity. My older brother was sent to prison the year before she was diagnosed. My twin sister was married at the time with three small children and my younger brother was only 16 years old. Therefore, I tried to become everything that she needed. Helping her through her battle would prove to me that life is too short to not pursue my dreams.

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.

My guilt was trapped behind my heart, knocking and pinching at the organ to open up and let it free. But I found a secret route. It could leave without anyone knowing it was even there.

I stare at the TV with incomplete fascination, my pencil tightly gripped in between my fingers.

Chelsea woke up with the most peculiar feeling on monday. She felt like she had had the most vivid dream last night—one of those really disturbing ones that you couldn't quite remember but you seemed glad it wasn't real when you woke up. Shrugging off the thought, she quickly got changed into her uniform and headed to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat before heading off to high school. It was the last week of term before the holidays, and she was looking forward to spending some time with friends over the break.

I find myself on the rough carpet I had fallen on when the piercing screams of the alarm began. Beside me, the man who had murdered my mother has a tight grip on my arm, preventing me from lunging at him again, or causing myself any more bodily harm. I realize that I had passed out, or at least day dreamt of Xavier while I was on the ground screaming for someone to help me.

In the year 2008, I attended elementary school enrolled in the third grade. I enjoyed outdoor activities with a burning passion, and I had many friends. One weekend my best friend Dimitri slept-over at my house, and he and I decided to go on a bike ride with my younger brother. Unfortunately we only had two helmets that functioned properly, but since I always put friends first, I gave my helmet to Dimitri. We were having a great time racing up and down the block until my brother found a pair of rusty broken scissors lying on the side of the road. An awful idea entered his mind at that moment and he decided to throw the scissors at me. During his first attempt he missed and I sped away and yelled at him. Ignoring me, he threw them and missed

Some of the hardest things in life make you realize what you really appreciate. One such instance took place in a remote part of Wyoming far away from everything and everyone. However, such an experience made one couple closer and taught them how valuable family really is.

"Oh? How bad you've been? You've been so bad you need to be punished? You've been so bad you need to be spanked?

When I woke up, I hardly remembered where I was. But then, as I looked over to the door to see Alex, I remembered. She opened the door and held the rope out to me so that she could hook it onto the thing around my neck. I stood up from my bed, stretched, shook my fur out and walked over to her. She hooked the rope onto me and we walked back through the hallway. She took me out the back door that I came in through and we walked further towards the back of the building. By this point, I realized how much water I drank and how bad I needed to go. Alex must have known that because we got closer and closer to a big open field surrounded by trees, bushes, and a small fence. We walked through a gate on the fence and she bent down to my level. She

I was sitting in my room eating a ham and cheese sandwich when all of a sudden I heard a loud bang on my window. Startled I tip toed over to the window curious to see what made the sound. As I moved the curtains slowly, I found I was now face to face with a tiny little fairy. She was no bigger than a roll of paper towels and smiled while rubbing her head and staring back at me. I slowly opened my window as not to scare her, but also scared for myself because I had never been seen a fairy in real life. As the window opened enough for her to fly through she came fluttering passed me and rested on the end of my dresser. I stood in amazement as she dusted herself off and continued to rub her head. I managed to muster out a few words, “who are

Sometimes when I am alone I wonder, “What if I was able to go back in time?” I think of the countless memories and the time periods that I would visit. From riding horses with Native Americans to my very first middle school band concert, it would all be an amazing experience. I could change the outcomes of things, make things better, or just go through the memories all over again.

I am confident that almost all people have had to go through passed relatives belongings at one time or another. You know what I’m talking about. After “Uncle Edward” dies an e-mail or letter arrives with an itemized list of his belongings and you have been “invited” to choose what you want among the other relatives or close friends. To be honest, I find the whole experience awkward and strange.