Personal Narrative: Manure Pile

After I read the article of Selling Manure by Bonnie Jo Campbell, I found some interesting connection in my past job that I almost about to forget. As I read through the article, I stated recall my past memory of my first job experience. connection of the article to my past experience. And I feel like I am in back to my country. Honestly I don’t remember my age, when I first worked. I worked with my dad’s in construction it was in three month vacation, I think I was 15 years old.

This part of the run is not difficult for me, which is good because my mind is already focused on the cliff that I know is about 100 feet down the ridge and 50 feet on my left (north). Waiting for my turn at the top, I had lots of time to sit and think about what I was about to do, igniting my nerves and adrenaline, making my body feel numb. I ski to my spot above the cliff, and the iconic House Rock looks like it always does, almost like a fifty foot diving board that will shoot you out half-way down the rest of the mountain. I stop right above the point of no return. I must choose to hit the cliff or not. There is no turning back once I move from this spot.

The feeling of fear excites me, an ecstasy of joy trickles into my veins. In a quick moment I make a choice and the adrenaline surges as I boost off a massive cliff, with a thud and a mushroom cloud of powder, snow drifts onto my face. With each line persuading me towards the life of a ski bum, living in a van, going from mountain to mountain, meeting new people and experiencing new thrills.

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

We were all encouraged to choke down as much food as possible. Any kind of energy was essential. A melancholy atmosphere hung heavy as the journey progressed. Minutes walking slowly progressed into hours, the sky seemed to darken steadily. All of us were oblivious to the danger shrouded by the dim evening. Only moments after scaling a rather steep ledge did nature dice to turn sour. A deafening rumble made each climber perk up. Snow began to descend at an alarming rate. Thunder began to mic the steady beating of a drum, causing more concern among the ranks of climbers. The powdery snow became more of a risk than ever, climbing under pressure and leaving nothing to stand on. Third base was more than three hours away. Three hours wasn't possible at the rate. Snowfall this bad could be detrimental to the climb’s success. Snow obscured vision and numbed faces. Shouts and orders deemed lost in the screaming wind; people’s figure became shapeless blurs frantically shifting, hoping if they struggled against the wind hard enough, they might find someone. Of course, this was to no avail. Not a single person doubted their demise would come at this point: the stakes were high and no-one could play too well against Mother Nature. The snow crept up to knee-level, making it harder and harder to travel. Death and I were face-to-face. To some, they couldn't bare the idea of dying up here; they had families and friends, children who need parents and

When I was in the 6th grade I went over to a man up the street from me and bought a riding lawn mower. That summer I mowed lawns for 6 people. And it broke a lot. It was a piece of crap, but I kept working on it. I spent over triple for what I payed for it in parts. I replaced the points, the starter, the battery, the carburetor, the fuel pump, and the engine mounts. Then the hydro blew up so I stopped using that one and got another.

It wasn’t as if I had much of a choice. Actually there was, but this would settle things once and for all. Although, there were assurances, from the legal team of the best criminal attorney’s in the country, that there was nothing to worry about, a small chance is still a chance. I did discharged a firearm and my father did thrashed Gilbert something awful in front of witnesses, and my father did take over Tilley pharmaceutical in a wonderfully barbaric corporate takeover. What did work in my favor was me constantly speaking out at every opportunity the reason for my anger.

I decided we would take it slow by car. It was a one lined road, mainly although two cars could pass by it was very rocky, dirty, and had no shoulder. This seemed to be leading us around somewhere. I didn’t find many signs to where this road would take us. However, the valley below was beautiful. I could see some effects of the rim fire, not up close and personal in the “hot zone” that I wanted to or ground zero that I had wanted to but enough that I could get an Idea what the area looked like from that view point. There were several areas along the way I could pull over as far as possible along the mountain and exit the car and walk to

Power, It surged through my veins as I took her life. I felt no remorse only happiness. Soon they would understand. I know they will. I stared down at her lifeless body. Time to take my trophy. I grabbed my little letter opener and cut out a small portion of her silky golden hair, tucking away the lock in a small bag and putting it in my box along with the others. Oh, I almost forgot, I set the little orange, now empty, bottle next to her. Now for the not so fun part the letter. I took my gloved hand and grabbed her limp one, placing it on the pencil once that was done I began to forge “ her” letter. Dear family and friends i’m sorry it had to end this way but I could no longer endure the pain… I started. I’ve been wearing a mask for so long and I was so tired I couldn’t truly be me… I love you all goodbye Winter ❤❤❤. Done I have studied her handwriting for so long now it feels so natural as i sign her signature. I kept imagining everyone's reaction oh they would be devastated and so confused on how they didn’t catch the “signs”. This feeling was so euphoric, I felt truly alive if for only a short moment. Anyways I got to get to calculus see you next time xoxo Angelo della Morte.

As I close my eyes even for the briefest of seconds, I still feel my heart race and adrenaline pulse throughout my body, as my fingers tighten around the throttle of my All-Terrain Vehicle. My eyes focusing on each object in my path as if I were a bird of prey soaring in on its next meal; where puddles of rain, loose rocks, fallen tree limbs, aged stumps now hidden by magnificent ferns of the Pacific Northwest, could maim my escape of reality and the burdens daily life. I am one with my machine racing through the wood line of some primal forest, skirting narrow trails with sheer vertical drops that would frighten most pedestrians; it is here on my machine, wearing protective garments, my helmet in hand pretending as if I were a gladiator entering an ancient

Ahead crowds of cyclists pack the streets. Bobby’s twin throws his cap high in the air and catches it in jubilation. The Dolphin Statue is near, even if I can’t see it. I bike faster to join them, though the heat and exhaustion have taken its toll. I slow down and pause to lean my head on the handlebars. My body caves.

One of the double doors to the Libra office flung open. Klaus came through holding the door for Leo as they entered together. Gilbert on the other hand vanished upon arriving at the building, which seems to be his typical thing. The brunet turned his head to the left where Chain and K.K were both near the leader's desk waiting for them. Chain turned around meeting the boy's eyes, hiding a grin that was probably pointed at him, surely believing that she won the bet. K.K, however, looked quite irritated. Something must have been on her mind because in truth she looked quite scary.

With the help of my mother and father, I constructed a raised-bed vegetable garden, which we completed the third week of October. We placed it next to our house so that the garden would be hit with plenty of sunlight. We used four pieces of plywood and nailed them to make a rectangular shaped container, the box was four feet wide, eight feet long, and a little less than twenty inches tall. We filled the box with ten inches of soil and later planted our vegetables we bought at Home Depot. We bought leeks, Chinese cabbage, Cauliflower, Savoy cabbage, and Mustard greens. I decided to start a garden because I’ve always had an interest in food and where it comes from.

Hooves pounding as dust billows from the earth, the world races by and I feel as if I could fly. The adrenaline fuels my body while sweat and muscle weakness threatens me, but it is no match to the euphoric feeling with which I am overcome when ride. Since stepping into the saddle nine years ago, the way I look at and interact with the world has completely changed; but one thing remains constant – riding is my escape

After moving for a while, I hit my first hill and fire seems to take ever my legs as I push myself to my limits. As the trail continues to move underneath me, I begin to hear the bike. As I hit a water bar or a drop-off I hat the clinking of my tools in their case on the side of the bike. Then I notice how the chain smacks against the frame on a particularly rough terrain. When I feel confident enough, I will hear the rear wheel skidding across the dirt, as I pull a nice speed slide through a turn. After my body is somewhat numb to what I am sensing, I begin to notice new awareness of other sensations. Now that I have been on the bike for a while, I am rather saturated with perspiration. I can now taste the sweat as it rolls down my face, picking up dirt as it goes, and then mixing with my saliva on my lips, and then into my parched mouth. I reach for my bottle of water to quench my thirst. The water is warm, because of the sun beating down on it. I pour it into my mouth and across my face as I slow down my pace to keep from crashing. The water’s taste is not spectacular, because of its temperature and the mud caked on the spout of the bottle. To the hot and tired rider like me, its flavor is wonderful. Lastly, I start to notice the smells of riding on the trail. As my blood is stripped of its oxygen while pumping through my legs, my lungs gasp for more to air to