Personal Narrative: Rural Southern Town Of Wrongberight

McKnight Malmar’s story, “The Storm”, is a suspenseful short story about a woman, later in the story revealed to be named Janet, coming home to an empty house with no sign of her husband, Ben. The story is told in third person limited point of view where the reader follows Janet who has to process her husband being gone, and finding the lifeless body of a woman while alone in her isolated home during a thunderstorm. The story starts with Janet being excited and relieved to come home to her husband, where she imagines a kind, almost platonic Ben to welcome her home by kissing her cheeks and touching her shoulders (Malmar, Pg. 1). Through the progression of the story, Janet uses her time alone to shift her happy thoughts of Ben into doubt and reason. During the storm, Janet is able to see her life with Ben as the abusive relationship it truly is.

This story begins with the introduction of Mr. Isaac Cline, a well educated Tennessee native, who served as the Chief Meteorologist in Galveston, Texas during the late 1800’s. Isaac and his Wife Cora May, as well as their four kids, lived in their newly built “storm proof” home alongside the Galveston Coast. Isaac took an interest in how weather affected people’s health, and did so alongside his ever eager brother, Joseph. During Isaac’s time as Chief Meteorologist, he helped lead the change in how modern Meteorologists study the weather today. Galveston, being a bountiful city, had the money to put into public works that would interest people into either living in or visiting Galveston. This busy city had intentions on becoming one of the most well known cities in the United States, a city that at the time could be compared to New York.

As in many of Flannery O'Connor's stories, weather is an important indicator of characters' moods and important moments. As Tom Shiftlet drives off with the younger Lucynell Crater in the car, supposedly to go on a honeymoon, "The early afternoon was clear and open and surrounded by pale blue sky;" he still has a chance to redeem himself. But after he abandons her at The Hot Spot, he has lost his chance at salvation; this moment is enforced by the weather: "Deep in the sky a storm was preparing very slowly and without thunder as if it meant to drain every drop of air from the earth before it broke." After the hitchhiking boy has thrown himself out the passenger door, all is really lost for Tom Shiftlet, and "there was a guffawing peal of thunder from behind and fantastic raindrops, like tin-can tops, crashed over the rear of Mr. Shiftlet's car."

Morning brought the peace of a warm sunny day to the small town of Tributary; such a contrast to the violent events of the day before, still there was a sense of mourning in the air. The town folk spent much of the day recovering lost property. Everyone felt fortunate to have found their missing belongings. Everyone except Corvida Bratleigh! Rather than being thankful her playhouse was undamaged by the tornado, Corvida was angry that her playhouse was in Nikki Fernandez’s garden! The playhouse was hers, not Nikki’s and she was going to make sure that Nikki did not step one foot in her lovely little house.

Being from rural Mississippi, people from other states assume that we know very little about what goes on outside our state let alone our own town. In a way, I can see why, but glad I am one of the ones who, thanks to my family, have an idea of a world larger than my town. I am from a family of six consisting of my mother, father, step-mother, brother, and identical twin sister. We did a lot of traveling when growing up normally traveling out of state even if just for weekends. My interest in other cultures and languages came from my family, especially on my mother’s side where I members who traveled out of country for work and would bring us back clothes, books, or other souvenirs. My dad did not do as much traveling as my mom and had not

The greasy scent of cheap burgers and fries wafted into the car as we pulled into the parking lot of a Wendy’s, right in the heart of who-knows-where, East Tennessee. I couldn’t contain my excitement as I rushed my 12-year-old self out of the minivan and into the palace of grease. Clad in ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt with my hair pressed down from my prolonged use of headphones, it was evident that I spent long hours sitting in a car, asking “if we’re there yet” too many times to count. In this moment, however, carving up Snowshoe Mountain on my snowboard didn’t seem as exciting as the machine that stood across the room. Standing tall, shiny, and red, the Coca-Cola Freestyle soda fountains were in the early stages of being released, and

You know what is really fun... doing what I did this summer! What I did this summer is go to Tennessee cabins. Tennessee cabins is a huge cabin of choice you stay in for as many nights as you book. The Tennessee cabin I went to was called Majestic springs. Majestics springs had a four jacuzzi baths ,and a hot tub.

One of the hardest things about moving to Little Rock for college is knowing that I will not get to enjoy southern home cooked meals everyday. My grandma’s crispy pork chops with fried potatoes, and creamy macaroni and cheese and freshly picked green beans, from the garden in the backyard, or her homemade vegetable soup and buttered cornbread really screams my name as I stand in line for a standard cafeteria meal. Not having her cooking available to me everyday is definitely a struggle. Food is the center of my whole family. Food is what brings us together. Not just ordinary food though, no. It is southern home cooked food.

It is pretty strange when Tretheway has not been ridden out the storm at that time, yet her ability to extend that empathy to the local residents is undeniable. Thetheway refacts all the deaths and “bodies washed away” (65) through the lens of witnesses – her family and the whole community – with emotional depth and

“Why are you qualified to be my Southern Region Vice President?”, asked an intrepid FBLA member as he gazed at my board, full of parallels of business to architecture, as my program at A-Tech was Architecture. Smiling, I came to the member and shook has hand, and spoke, “ Your eyes are as bright as the stars above, for each has the potential that is out of this world. Potential like that has to be nurtured and supported, and the fact of the matter is the system currently does not support that”. Within the vicinity, not just a couple feet away was my opponent for the position talking to his colleagues and sending them out to fetch voters. My eyes never left the member before me, but I could hear my opponent. Veiled smiles we traded from time to time, as we’d have to stay in the campaigning

Brevard is about two hours or so north of Miami-Dade. Most people recognize the city of Cocoa Beach or nearby Kennedy Space Center. As a matter of fact, I merely step out into my backyard and watch the rocket launches, if there are enough clouds (notice my inclusion of meteorology wink) for the shock waves to bounce off, pictures sometimes get rattled from the wall.

By Saturday afternoon, the eighty-seven residents of the rural southern town of Wrongberight have suffered through four days of intense intermittent rainstorms. And to add to their misery another storm approaches the town from the northeast. Now, Clemmy Sue Jarvis since birth has lived here and has a simple philosophy concerning weather. As long as the almighty man upstairs allows her to draw a breath, she will enjoy life, regardless of the weather. At four o’clock, she lifts her petite frame into her rusty Ford pickup, and gradually eases out of her driveway. The soaring Pines that surround her home sway to the rhythm of the gusting wind as she turns south onto Flat Bottom Road and follows it along the edge the Dismal Swamp towards the isolated

Rain hit my head, raced down my face and back. We trudged through the mud, sinking in our boots feet deep. All we could see was our breathe, all we could hear was the wind slapping against the trees, rain hitting, and our boots squishing in the mud. We expected the weather to be like this, the weather channel had been going crazy all week about a storm passing through our way around 5 pm today. Just as predicted the rain became heavier, fog thicker, and sky darker. But our search group did not give up; we had been searching months for the beloved missing girl named Emma Barrett in the Elliott State Forest in Oregon. She was last scene heading into the forest with her parents on a Tuesday afternoon for a hike, hours

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

The weather man seemed to scare me to the point of no return. I quickly grasped Madeline’s arm and brought her to her bed and laid her down. I reached over to my bed and grabbed my comforter and situated it around her body. Her eyes were still wide like she had seen something frightening. I dimmed the lights and turned the volume on the television up a little louder. I got into my bed and pulled my sheets up. The darkness had gotten to me, it felt like midnight but it was only one in the afternoon. I was so tired. Slowly drifting off, my eyes sealed shut and I fell deep into sleep.