Personal Narrative : The Abyss

But if it rained the story mood would sneak up on Papa. The hiss and tick on the metal of our big living van distracted him from his papers. Rain on a show night was catastrophe. Rain on the road meant talk, which, for Papa, was pure pleasure.

"Hearing the raindrops seems to always calm my mind. I preferred these rainy days, cooped up in the house with my love ones, over a hot sunny day outside." Dime mentioned as she leaned against the cool window pane staring off into space.

Over my years of school, one big influence on me has always been sports. Ever since a young age, I have always enjoyed playing and watching sports. In my four years in high school, I have fell in love with the sport of lacrosse.

I woke up and took one bite out of my pop tart but that one bite was all I could eat. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding. My dad told me, “It is a true honor to even make it this far so go out there and have some fun.” Once I heard this statement, I knew I was ready to go. I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The car ride was an hour and fifteen minutes of hearing the squeaking of the wheel on the bus. My teammates were getting their heads ready for the big game.

As the light of the sun began to weaken, my thoughts began to disperse. The grey clouds of a storm blew in from the horizon. It began to rain big fat drops that fell so slowly I could count them. It was a cool rain, but the air was still warm. I watched people grabbing their things and jogging off the beach. Even my dad who was devoted to his fishing had begun to pack up his rods and bait.

Rain was a sweet escape,that lent me a sort of solace,humanity failed to possess.It soothed me with each pelt and seemed to wash away my worries.

Raindrops ran down the window pane, creating streaks of water on the glass. A lightning bolt struck lazily, and a quiet roll of thunder followed. Fragile clouds let loose a few rays of sun, illuminating small parts of the city. The woman lounging in the window seat languidly drew a few finishing strokes on a piece of paper, then set the sketch aside, allowing her eyes to roam to the outside. She rubbed them gently, blinking out the dreariness that came with stormy days. No balloons today, she thought with disappointment. They were beautiful with their bright colors and elaborate designs.

Rain is crucial to all living things from every walk of life. Rain brings destruction and regrowth, leaving a clean slate and a new beginning. I selected this theme because while the focal point and characters change throughout my writing the constant idea throughout my pieces consisted of moving on, growing, and starting a new beginning. I think that lately my writing has been full of an unknown tone, an excitement/ fear of growing up and starting over. I believe this is all because I've reached a point in my life where I’m going to college and moving away. I’m delighted to be able to go out on my own and experience new things, but it’s kind of nostalgic to know that my childhood is coming to a close. However I’m aware that not all people

His mother had warned of rain. It was in the forecast, she had said in her small, fretting voice. She had urged him to wear his raincoat and to take his umbrella, but he had forgotten the umbrella in the rush of leaving, and how he thought of the five blocks he would have to walk from the Omni station to the Century National Bank, and of the morning crowd that would push against him in its hurried dash through the fine mist of the rain that had begun during the train ride from Decatur.

Just so you know, this is the Big Apple and I rule this town. New York City is filled with tall buildings, great culture, and historical sites. No other city has so much beauty that it takes your breath away; yet, there is a real danger that lurks on the streets. I should know because I am Detective Michael Morgan a United States Super Spy in charge of capturing dastardly villains who are set on destroying our world. Armed with mind-altering powers, Alex Higgins is on the top of the FBI’s list of the ten most wanted men in America. This thug is one of the greatest danger to our world and must be captured and jailed in the vault of death. There is no place safe for him to hide from the law and rumor has it, he is in my town. You break the law here in New York City, you pay the ultimate price: freedom.

It was a beautiful day. It was dark, cool, and damp, just the way I like it. I looked over at Cassandra and Connor, and they were having just as much fun as I was drinking the water that fell down on us. The light breeze made my hair blow to one side. The ground was moist, making it perfect for everything we do: eat, drink, sleep and socialize.

A booming echo of thunder bellows in the distance as the rain hurls upon the earth with no intent of ceasing, demolishing what would have been a gorgeous sunny day. Abruptly, the precipitation pauses, the sun glows upon the land, and the harmonious chirps of birds fill the air. In Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “The Rainy Day,” he depicts the immediate and long term effects of enduring hardships on the mind. Misfortunes are an inescapable element of the life of any individual.

No storm is experienced the same. Seeing a storm on the horizon has the power to stir up gripping memories, introspective thoughts, and convoluted emotions. The poem “Storm Warnings”, by Adrienne Rich, applies a predictable structure paired with flowing syntax, and ambiguous diction- speaking both of weather and emotions- to illustrate that one cannot avoid the tribulations of life, embodied as the approaching storm, but instead prepare for their arrival.

It’s cool and dark outside of the car as we drive, dark clouds hovering over the plains as fat, heavy drops of water fall from the full clouds. The lights of cars and streetlights and cars blur with the flow of water on the side windows, our speed not fast enough to force the drops to flow back along the windows. It’s not until we start on the highway and the water starts to move that I find my objects of interest in front of me in the form of the rain and the memories of my childhood that surface with them.

The downpour recounts an idiosyncratic phenomenon from his childhood that lingered a cherished occurrence on the writer’s mind; watching as the rain drenched earth and everything on it, then becoming shadowed by the vehement thunder to follow, impacted the writer tremendously as the result/damage of the aforementioned coerced an aesthetic appreciation towards this phenomenon. This heavy downpour embarked the unforgettable memories of playing outside in the heavy rain as he reminisced on the vast imagery of nature’s elements along with the striking sounds that followed. In this extract, the writer’s application of stylistic devices and emotive languages such as: his amplification of “The Downpour” in his description, energizing personifications,