Personal Narrative-Tale Water

Dustin Vaughan had a terrible game on Sunday night. He didn’t look comfortable in the pocket threw picks & just was all over the place with the ball. Showers showed poised while being very calm while in the pocket. When moving outside of the pocket he always kept his eyes downfield to look for open wide-receivers. The fact that Showers can play special teams and make tackles he wouldn’t be a waste to use for the 46 game day roster if coaches decide to use him. I also considered that the Cowboys could go back to keeping two quarterbacks and hoping they could land Showers on practice squad.

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

Oh, it has been a month. So much has happened. A couple hundred miles into our trip, we looked ahead and say a long line of people. It was the kansas river. When we got up close we could see what the people were doing. One by one the wagons would cross the river. We were thinking about just walking across, the water was only like 2.5 feet deep. We decided it wasn't worth the risk and waited in line. When it was our turn we gave them $1 and started moving across. The river was only about 200 yards across. When we got across we looked back and saw that some people tried crossing without using the fairy. They were stuck. While we waited for the rest of our train we watched them trying to get unstuck. They managed to get out but there wagon and

The sun began to creep up behind the towering pine trees as I sip on my torrid coffee. I glance at my watch which reads 5:45 am, I gather my tackle box that's overflows with hooks and line and stick in underneath the damp boat seat. The water glistens in the morning sunlight, I aboard the scent of pine needles which is always prominent the crisp air of Northern Wisconsin.

When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to swim. I remember the time we were

"Come on, just a little bit longer. Just a few more hours and I can go home," I think to myself. It's the middle of the school year, right after our bathroom break, the second grade school year. We're the big kids in the hall. Kaley held me in the back and now I really have to use the bathroom. I feel just like the narrator of "Ringing Wet"; I am horrified.

The first thing I ever felt was intense wind and somehow I knew that when I opened my eyes alI I would see is blue. Light pale grey blue. Blue so light that the horizon can’t tell where the grey water ends and the sky begins. Blue that promises rain and storms and chaos. I was sitting on something. Something with scales and muscles pumping, up and down, up and down and I could only grin because I knew. When I finally opened my eyes and looked at the dragon on whose back I sat, all I could feel was peace. Peace in the air with the slate skies. The dragon pushed harder, flapping it’s wings faster. Up up up up. I thought the farther up we went, the less air there would be, but no. There was more. I felt it in my blood. It flowed in constant wind, sending us through the layers and layers of atmosphere.

I am known to be extremely clumsy. With that, it’s expected that I often end up in awkward situations. In the past I have called numerous teachers “Mom,” fallen down while walking up stairs, almost fallen off a cliff; and it can be assured there were many more instances where my embarrassing clumsiness had led me into awkward, sometimes life threatening, situations. One moment that stands out in particular takes place in every marine animal welfare activists’ “favorite” place, Sea World.

What exactly is a self-narrative or in other words an identity? Could it be described as someone’s life story and their individual uniqueness? A self-narrative is a broad topic that has more meaning just one. In order to get a wide range of knowledge about a self-narrative one has to understand the different self-making narratives. In the stories Memory of Water by Emmi Itaranta, Being Prey by Val Plumwood, Nightmare by Malcolm X, express self-making narratives by stating how their experiences have transformed their self-identities originally. This occurs when External and internal beliefs are altered, turning points in our lives occur, creating a self-narrative full of distinctiveness. All of these stories stated above all show

Maria woke up and thought to herself, I need a change. Something adventurous. Maybe I’ll go to that strange lake I saw. It sure is hot today. And I think I deserve the rest since papa made me work so hard yesterday. With that in mind, she slipped on the worn ruffle dress her sister had passed on to her three years ago. Maria missed her sister, Margarita. Margarita had died many many years ago, at the young age of nine. Seeing that Maria possessed a petite figure, and that Margarita was abnormally tall, Margarita gave the young Maria the dress as a birthday gift. The story goes, Margarita and three toddlers named Juan, José, and Alejandro were playing in the dirt when their mother came up to them and yanked them as hard as she could. You see, her husband had been gone for longer and longer trips out west at a time, and only came back

I wish I could run faster. I wish so many obstacles weren't in my way. I wish I knew why so many people wanted me dead. I wish I could...remember.

I knew cross country would come with pain, but I didn’t realize the risk I was taking. After the Starmont meet, the pain I was having was unendurable. I didn’t think I’d be able to walk.

Effusion Skin unfolding beneath a liquid barrier, taunt and stretched, encased in warmth. Coolness fades, rising and falling, mixture and separation, clarity of sound melding to muffled words. Silence is tainted by the incessant rapture and rupture, the throb of a life source echoing echoing, filling the ear, deafening sound. There is no sight, merely a distant flicker of recognition in an impartial eye, a flash of turquoise and then darkness. Even the darkness pulsates with a gentle glow— light beneath a scale of skin, the faculty of sight protected by blindness— resounding in the hollow frame of a fleshly form.

As semi-aquatic fowls, ducks have adapted over time to essentially create a waterproof barrier that sits atop their feathers. This layer, composed of a waxy oil, allows water droplets to easily roll off of ducks’ backs. From this impressive natural occurrence, a popular idiom has arisen. “Like water off a duck’s back” is the most influential and prevalent sayings in regards to my recent every-day life. Allowing hurtful words to roll off of me as if they were “water off a duck’s back” has illuminated my perspective of life.

Everything happens so fast. She doesn’t have time to scream before an unknown force causes her to lose balance and she plunges face-first into the tarp-covered pool with a splash. Chlorine bums her eyes as she twists around to take in a last breath before her head goes under. Under normal circumstances, she could’ve gotten out without a problem; however this time, the tarp’s weight drags her down. The plastic hugs her like a cocoon and she sinks like a stone. Panic takes over as she thrashes and twists in a futile attempt to escape.