Personal Narrative: Smoke Rising

You could tell from the overcoming dark clouds that it was going to be a storm.

Sometimes she’d come to my regional finals. During the season, Sunday was soup day- she’d make it while we were with dad, zipping up and down the sidelines, and heated it up in that well-scrubbed, large silver pot when we came in from soccer. Some days it was kind of a proper soup, a bit like those Penelope had in her mansion near town, from a real recipe- cream of mushroom, minestrone, or French onion. Never cream of chicken though… the place up in town was quite pricey. Other times it’d just be a Mum’s Mix just the way I liked it, made from whatever scraps and bits and pieces needed to be used up. The ultimate rule to good cooking, she’d say, if you put nice things in it, it can’t possibly turn out nasty. In went the leftover bits of ham, corn cobs, softened tomatoes, the stalk of chives sitting at the back of the fridge, left over herbs from the garden, and a tiny cube of chicken stock. Dad would stomp in, the floor boards creaking as he limped into the kitchen. Grey eyed, and growling with hunger, he’d slurp down the whole without even picking up his spoon, bits and pieces sticking to his unruly black moustache. It was true too, I’ve lived with Mum’s philosophy to this day cooking in the front kitchen overlooking the harbour…it’s still loved by

I put on a pair of jeans and walk downstairs into the dining room, there was a plate with frijoles, chorizo and tortillas waiting for me. My grandmother brings me my favorite drink, homemade chocolate milk. I sit down and across from me is my cousin Lesly. She was bored, she always was.

There I was on the block next to the High Bar. It was about 5:00 at night when my coach told me to do a Kip. As I got up on the bar my nose filled with the smell of chalk. I started to swing, and as I came out of my half turn I looked good. Everything seemed fine but as I came to the part of the Kip where I have to pull my legs up to the bar, I slammed my shins into the bar. My momentum was stopped and I dropped on to the mat, missing the Kip. I felt like I had let down my coach and I had let down myself too. That day I experienced failure. That failure made me want my Kip even more so I worked harder and had support from my teammates.

While peeking through the little glass window on the oven, I saw my mother entering the kitchen. After yawning, she put on an apron and said, “Happy Thanksgiving my love.” “Happy Thanksgiving mom,” I replied, as I put on the worn burgundy oven mitts and opened the oven door. “It sure smells good in here Kandee, I bet no one is going to believe that

Who knew that things could change so abruptly, it almost felt that my whole world was flipped within a blink of an eye. Things were going to be different from now on, the people, the weather, even the fresh summer breeze from the coast will soon become a cold bitter winter breeze. This all came to my mind when my mom announced to my family that we’re moving, to New Jersey, once my school goes on summer break. At first, I began to panic, why do we have to move? Why can’t we just live here? We don’t even know anyone there, except for my aunt. We just moved here three years ago from New Jersey, and we didn’t like it, that’s why we only lived there for a month. Then why would we would we like it now? I question my mom, and I demanded explanations

It was a typical Sunday morning, I ate breakfast with my family and got ready for church. The morning went on with a drag, than 5 o’clock hit. Once 5 o’clock hit my mother started yelling at my sister and me to get our stuff packed and into the car. We had only a few hours before my final summer of upward bound started. Since I started my senior year I’d been remembering many moments of my past and been reflecting on them. Therefore as I began to pack, it didn’t seem strange to me as I started to flash back to what had gotten me into Upward Bound in the first place.

When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.

When you first walk into the Hornets Nest the first thing you see is one of the friendly crew member there to swipe your hornet card. Then you smell the freshly stoned cooked pizza and nearby you can see some choices on pasta. I normally don’t the eat pizza. Honestly the pizza is not as good as it smells. I haven’t touch the pasta once because I avoid the pizza so I forget that there’s more than pizza.

I get down on all fours and relax my whole body, my bones begin to crack. Unlike most wolves, where it stops hurting awhile after your first shift. Mine shift didn't. It still hurts even though it has been six years (No. Our cloths they don't rip, and no. Don't ask me where they go)

Our story begins as I am picked up from GMB. Keep in mind that in order to be hired by them you need to be in physical shape and no disabilities of any kind. So you're basically their toy. For example an assassination of someone very important.You are used to do their dirty work and in return you get nothing. Alright so as soon as I step out of my house i'm rushed by men in black suits. I am already well aware that it was GMB coming at me so as I am a highly trained for situation like this I fought back hoping I would make it out alive but as i'm thinking this I get hit in the back of the head and i'm out.

Sorry, I know you're asleep and I continuously keep texting you but I'd rather tell you everything now so you won't feel worried when you wake up when I will still feel asleep. What I wanted to tell you was that I just haven't been happy lately. Maybe it's because I miss you; because of all the shitty things that has been happening to me. I haven't been happy for over a week. But between us, all we do is argue and I'm so tired, Ciro. Sometimes I lay in bed and just grab my head because of how exhausted I am with the constant fightings. I have so many problems in my life and I have to go on and tell you everything that's happening when I shouldn't. It honestly makes things worse. I even cry because I can't take my life anymore. Believe me, I cry every single day. Not

I enjoy writing and editing, and I like The Wake’s unblinking eye. In all seriousness though, writing is a passion of mine, and there’s nothing more satisfying than making the writing as clean as possible. It is for these basic but essential reasons that I am applying for the Managing Editor and Copy Editor positions.

My fingers gradually weaken and curl up. I lose contact with the walls of the buildings, both broken and destroyed. My body slowly crushes between the battered walls, with no means of escape. I push through the cold walls while my deteriorating body topples over. Buckling under the immense pressure, my knees are soon to give away. The coldness rushes through my feet, darting up into the rest of my body until my brain is on the brink of freezing. I can no longer hear the sounds of the others trapped like me or the noise of the commotion and stress filling the outside streets. I rest there in silence. I start to lose hope just as quickly as I’m losing my strength. I shut my eyes and relax my body as it is squished between the unyielding, icy

I feel relaxed; I sit quietly on the bench, at the neighborhood park. I can hear the kids playing in the distance, the dogs barking, and the birds chirping. The smell of barbeque engulfs the air around me. I close my eyes and let nature take over.