Personal Narrative-Mark

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

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.

When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.

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.

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

I blacked out for a second . I had to think of a plan . I had to be prepared for this tornado. I know if it hits I would have to find a safe place to hide out . My cabin , that's where I need to go . It has an underground room . I had to get there as soon as possible . I need supplies . I packed bottles of water , food , extra clothes , blankets. I grabbed a backpack , stuffed it with everything I need . Since maylee was here in my house I have to make sure we both get safe to the cabin . Which in reality my cabin wasn't made of logs or wood . The cabin was 10 miles away and I already wasted 10 min . I had to get there in less than 10 min or else I would die and so would maylee . I opened the door of my car

It's been an interesting year so far, and it looks like it is about to get even more interesting (more about that in a moment). What I wanted to write about in this here journal of mine is a new brand of shoe that I just purchased; they are called Nike running shoes, and I love them. They fit well, are comfortable and seem like they will last quite a while. I just had to have a pair (I think I'm the first one here at school to have them most of the other students have never even heard of them; Neanderthals, I know!). I predict they will be a big hit in the future. Okay, enough about shoes, let's move on to more serious matters, my love life! (just joking journal I have no love life right now). Oh well, I haven't written in here for the past few weeks, I guess I better talk about the events of the month. Let's see, it's October 1962 and a number of events have taken place; some here at the University of Mississippi, some in the United States and some internationally. Many of these events will likely have long-term impact on some very serious matters. Of course, I did not think any event would foreshadow James Meredith being admitted into the University, but, the first Negro being admitted into a higher education institution is an event that has only national implications, while the missile crisis in Cuba, could lead to death to thousands or even hundreds of thousands of citizens in both the United States and in Russia.

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."

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.

There I lay quietly and still as my gun wound gets worse, I fell a breeze go across my face like wind on a stormy day I think to myself “am I going to die?” then I see in the distance a glowing light flashing red and blue continuously as I hear the sirens getting closer I start to fade. I’m awake sitting in a chair in the hospital then I check my body for wounds and but…found nothing as I walk down the hallway I suddenly remember that my mom was in the hospital for reasons I did not know I said to myself quietly “I’ll just go home and rest for now” as I walk out of the hospital and towards my car I see a white owl fly by some ones house and remembered I saw it in my dream just flashbacks of little glimpses from my dream I reach for my car handle and opened my car I sat down shivering in the cold night for my back window was broken, as I am diving I feel a slight pain on my lower back I stop at the side of a burger hut and check as the pain got worse I see guys getting closer wearing saggy clothes one pulls a gun on me…im laying on the floor…once again I am in the hospital chair this time I do everything over again not realizing it but there was a little ball underneath my skin.

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

It may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t always this bald and beautiful. I, like many other young men, was a victim of a vicious receding hairline. Me being so young, I fell victim to a plethora of cruel jokes, I mean let’s face it, not many sixteen-year-old girls swoon over a young boy with the hairline like their fathers. I was constantly ragged on by family, friends, strangers, and anyone else with a working pair of eyes. Thus, I grew to be very self-conscious about my hairline, or lack thereof. Then that all changed one day with a mirror and a razor. Looking back at it, I can’t help but laugh and smile when I think about the days when all I wanted was a full head of hair.

People often think of language as a connector, something that brings people together by helping them share experiences, feelings, ideas, etc. We, however, are interested in how language sets people apart. Start with the peculiarities of your own personal language—the voice you use when speaking most intimately to yourself, the vocabulary that spills out when you're startled, or special phrases and gestures that no one else seems to use or even understand—and tell us how your language makes you unique. You may want to think about subtle riffs or idiosyncrasies based on cadence, rhythm, rhyme, or (mis)pronunciation.

“It was my fault, okay?” His statement caused her to halt. She attempted to look at him again but her eyes focused on the clouds above his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets before sauntering away. His hand fiddled with the wallet. She dragged herself to her dorm; her hatred for herself grew. She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking about how incredibly stupid she was. She replayed the encounter in her mind, rewriting the entire event to fit an embarrassment free one. As she blamed herself, her thief found himself at his quiet area on campus. While sitting on a bench, he examined the wallet. A tattered, russet leather wallet with ‘Marcy’ embroidered on it with blue bubble letters. He ran his index finger along each letter, tracing