Personal Narrative: The Back

It was a chilly night before the last day of deer hunting season. At just the age of fifteen, I was in my house cleaning my cheap twenty gauge from Walmart. Using, a grubby white sock that had a long dark old shoelace tied around it, I inserted my shoelace through the top of the barrel.I then slowly pulled my sock through, till I saw it hanging a little into the ejection port to remove gunpowder from the gun.As I was cleaning, I kept thinking to myself how exciting this was going to be, because if I didn’t get a deer this year it was still fun going hunting. After I was done cleaning my gun, I slipped the gun into its soft dark green case.I then set out my bright blaze orange vest, and my old brown hand me down coveralls then crawled into

The next Monday coach gave us practice off so I headed home again. That night I went over to my brother's house and borrowed his shotgun because it had a fully rifled barrel with a scope. This gun was much better than mine. While I was there we talked about where he had shot his deer and where he had saw other deer. I headed home that night with little hope that I would actually get a deer at all. It was really cold when I got up the next morning. I headed out to a spot near where my brother shot his deer. As I walked out the snow covered ground crunched under my feet. I got set up in my spot and settled down for the wait. I was sitting there for about forty five minutes when I heard a noise.

The third Saturday of November was one filled with conflicting emotions: excitement, fear, optimism, and nervousness. The screeching sound of the alarm at 4:00 a.m. initiated a sense of panic and thrill throughout me; it was the opening day of the gun deer hunting season. Within minutes, I was dressed from head to toe in bright, blaze orange that could be recognized from miles away. I reluctantly, yet willingly, climbed into the truck to head to the hunting land in Adams County, Wisconsin. My stomach felt like it was tied into knots. My mind was again flooded with conflicting emotions. I began to wonder: will I get a deer? Will I not get a deer? Will I get a buck?

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

As I watched the does it looked like they were playing a game of tag. I slowly got out of the truck and leaned against the side of the truck. Looking through the scope I put my cross hairs on the doe. When the cross hairs were on the doe I shot. The doe ran out of my sight but I believed I had shot her. We waited for about ten minutes to make sure she was dead. Although my grandfather talked to me while we waited the time stood still. Finally my grandfather said, “It is time to head out and look for the doe.”

Hi iam Edgardo Flores i was born in casa grande, az not that far away from our state capital,Phoenix, Az.theres nothing better to do in a hot summer than going out with the friends to a lake and have a blast riding jet skis boats and my favorite, swimming!My activites of the day are shooting,riding horses,and my favorite one is quad riding.Thats right! ive been doing these fun exciting hobbies since i was 9 years old.pretty young huh?

Last summer I wanted to work and earn a little cash and distract myself and not be home all summer. I didn't know where to apply so I applied everywhere I was even open to working in the fields my parents told me that the fields were the last place they ever wanted me to work. My mom and step dad Raul always told me that field work wasn't easy and that it was not for me but I didn't listen.

Although I have not thought about how I would stage a play I will give myself a chance to thinking thoroughly about how I would want an audience to receive a piece of work written by the four playwrights we have read this semester. Drawing on Wilson’s famous speech, I have an idea about what I would want. The Ground on Which I Stand is one that acknowledges the amazing playwrights we were able to read this semester. I appreciate what they have given to the world through the stage and in print. There have been plays that I resonated with me and some that were harder to grasp. Many of these playwrights talk about connections and family which is a way that I have connected with the characters. I wouldn't use many of the playwrights as influences

This day was busy, but I was able to help out more by checking patients in and checking them out this time around. Felt a lot more comfortable with the system and interacting with the clients and their pets. This was my last day working in the front, I enjoyed working with Leonore and the rest of the staff in the front but, I am very excited to work in the back to get hands on experience working with the technician’s and the doctor’s.

After we stopped and shut the truck off, we ever so slowly and quietly exited the truck, went around to the tailgate, grabbed the guns, the little camo backpack of gear, sprayed down, and we were on our way. Even walking out, I was filled with emotions and my mind raced. Excited, nervous, alert, noticing and picking out every little thing that moved or made a noise. The frost crunching under my boots, watching my breath crystalize right before my eyes, the tops of trees swaying back and forth in the gentle wind, as if waving to us. We get to the stand, an old, wooden box on stilts, and climb up. When we get situated, I pulled out my phone to check the time. Six forty-five. I mentally took note of this and knowing legal shooting hours started at seven twenty, I calculated how long before this day could become an amazing one. Thirty-five minutes. I sit there anxiously counting down the time. After a while, Dad taps the side of my leg three times, and instantly I know what he means before he points out in the darkness. I can hardly make out the outline of a deer slowly walking broadside from left to right at about eighty yards in an open area straight in front of us. This is the kind of darkness where you can see the outline of your hand in front of your face, but not the rest of it. I could see the deer out there only because of its relatively large size. I reached down and turned on my phone that sits on the ground next to my

As he thumbed off the safety, he allowed himself one last, stolen glance at the sculptured head, arching up to grasp an apple. Jamie swallowed and Pulled the trigger as he saw the buck leap really high and fall onto his back. The other deer ran away in fear. Jamie was so eager to get a closer look so he ran up to the buck and he saw his eyes were closed, then he remembered that his dad told him that a person should never walk up to the deer right away, and if he did make sure that the eyes we're not closed. As soon as he remembered Jamie jumped in fear, the buck was gone. Jamie looked and saw blood where the buck took off. He decided to follow the blood trail. After about five minutes Jamie couldn't see blood anymore and there was two paths

As he walked up to the green field that was planted with clover and soy bean, along with some other thrown in ingredients; corn, mustard, and collards. Buck thought “It is December 24, middle of the rut, he had better show his butt up.” Buck walked over to a humongous tree and set down and positioning himself to shoot where he thought the buck would walk. If buck is still enough he just might get a shot of a lifetime to kill Bullwinkle. “ Now to settle my mind, so that I can concentrate and time will fly, but oh my lord it is getting cold.” he thought to himself. Two hours had passed by, 2 does had walked onto the field and good sized ones to. “I know I can take a shot at either of them, and it would be a lot of meat but I need to wait”. Buck sat there patiently, awaiting the arrival of Bullwinkle. Another hour has passed and it is 6:40, about twenty minutes of daylight left, Buck was starting to get discouraged knowing that not much time was left as well of his chance of killing the monster buck was

Home is the beginning of one’s book. It is where your story begins, forms its characters, shows its purpose, and reveals its ora. This is how mine is written. Home is on the buzzing highway down a bumpy gravel road. It’s Brandon, Mississippi. It is the only home I’ve ever known. Home is the smell of homemade biscuits and tomato gravy on Saturday mornings. It is “Bless Your Heart” and “Yes Mam” and “No Sir”. The little bedroom in the back of a grey double-wide where Carrie Underwood songs played and where I learned to curl my hair and put on mascara. My cousins and I running around with mason jars, chasing the lightning bugs. Bar-B-q on the back porch and never meeting a stranger. It is the morals learned and the identity

Six consecutive second place, Science Fair trophies sit in the deepest, darkest, most isolated place in my house... my closet. Upon entering the closet, I’m automatically overwhelmed with a horrifying stench, a mixture of plastic, metal, and disappointment, also known as second place. Once the scent enters the nasal cavity, it immediately calls war upon the cerebellum, attacking strongly and injuring the motor cortex, thus creating a chill to run through my body, leaving me powerless and without words. After the chill, next follows the noise. Mockingly congratulates me, whispering “great job, you almost had it,” oh the humanity; “second place” repeatedly echoes in my ear until I escape the closet.

Life really doesn't like to tell you what's ahead; sometimes it's nice and gives you a little hint, sometimes life replays itself so at least there's some familiarity in it, but most of the time my life seems out of my control. As a fifteen year old many people would hear me say this and scoff saying I don't have 'real' problems, or I don't know what the 'real' world is like. On one hand they're right, I shouldn't know what the 'real' world is like, most fifteen year olds are thinking about what picture they Instagram is a 'real' world problem. But being the not-so-average teenager, I do know what this so called 'real' world is.