Personal Narrative: The Golden Coral Inn

John Grady is not your average cowboy. All the Pretty Horses is not your typical coming-of-age story. This is an honest tale. Cormac McCarthy follows John Grady as he embarks on his journey of self-discovery across the border. Armed with a few pesos in his pocket, a strong horse and a friend at his side, John Grady thinks he’s ready to take on the Wild West of Mexico. At their final steps in America, a stranger, aged thirteen, joins our heroes. This unexpected variable named Blevins challenges John Grady, testing his character and pushing him to uncomfortable limits. The dynamic of their relationship reveals John Grady’s capacity to care for others as he shelters this kid from the hardships of reality and the

The thing that I miss most about summer is King's island. I had a pass so I could go when I wanted to and it was always a fun time. It is a good time to hang out with friends and go on rides. My favorite ride there is the beast because it isn’t too bumpy and it has a ton of sharp turns and caves. It also is slightly scary with all of the fake warning signs. The food at Kings Island is also decent so I wouldn’t have to go get lunch. If I get tired of the rides then I can go on the water rides and the wave pool. The water rides don’t usually have the longest of lines if you get there early but if not then they are worth it. My favorite overall is the Tropical Plunge. This ride has the drop shoot, You stand in a vertical tube and you wait for the countdown and the floor drops underneath your feet. You then shoot down the tube and you make it to the end. All of these factors make Kings Island a very fun place, and the thing that I miss the most from summer.

Unlike Jeannette I never moved around a lot in my life so maybe that’s why it so strange to me, but both she and I have some things in common. We both don’t seem to like our distant relatives, both of our mothers like to be hypocrites, saying stand up for what you believe in and then reprimanding us about it, and both of us have been and are tricked by our fathers; in her case standing up to her racist parents and digging a foundation for the Glass Castle that the family only wanted to use as a garbage disposal. Anyway her family has issues with pride just as much as mine does, only in a different way. The Walls were and are the poorest in any poor neighborhood they move to, but they bring their misfortune upon themselves. Honestly they could

This was a man who liked to be in control and he had none here. Frustrated he left the bar a little after two in the morning he went home and grabbed what he needed. Tommy had decided he was going to take that frustration he had, out on Terry Harris’s family. He made his way out by lake Amistad to a neighborhood known as Guajia bay. Sells had killed many more before Katy Harris.

The road, or more appropriately, the path leading the town of Opal essentially consisted of dirt and jagged pebbles. Needless to say it wasn’t the most favored road amongst the neighbors, especially those with wagons as the wheels consisting of flimsier spokes would often break or create a hitch. I didn’t so much have an issue with taking the path, aside from the semi-agonizing distance, as I was wearing my work boots, but it was honestly still an eyesore. However, I enjoyed the views of both the left and right side of the path. They were both rolling hills coated with lush oceans of green, despite the recent frigid weather as they defied the norm associated with the winter season. It was truly transitioning into a beautiful day, allowing the

In a time period where things are evolving and changing, the Author Cormac portrays John Grady as someone living within the old western “cowboy civilization”. Although John Grady is moving into a much progressive era, he would rather engage himself in the life of the land, cattle and that of his passion, the horses. The world John was used to is becoming more modern and although he is not blind, he is unwilling to give up the past and accept the present. Grady still embraced his desire to be a true cowboy even in his journey to Mexico he attempted to act on that philosophy but the new time and his experiences came to a fore front as he was forced to mature and to proceed through life abiding by the new rules before him.

Why had these thoughts embedded in me? I don’t know, but it about 45 minutes passed when I crossed Yonge Street. A couple of blocks ahead, to my right, I found “The Fox and Firkin Pub” and walked in. Just as in the dream, I sat down at the bar and asked for a pint of Buzz Amber Lager, but the one who attended me was a 2bot, as it had become common in most establishments and stable businesses. The 2bot was supposed to resemble a young affable and blonde young woman, but like all 2bots, I felt somewhat in a new frontier. Anyway, the 2bot did managed to be friendly with me—uncannily told me, “the night seems enormously white and blue,” and like everyone in the establishment and the crowded streets of Toronto I let myself be carried by normality,

A moment of contentment is more than pretty scenery, it’s a moment in time where I let go of my thoughts. When I am truly content my eyes close. I see nothing, I hear nothing, and I feel nothing. I am just existent. My serene moment came last summer while vacationing at the beach.

In my essay I am going to compare things from the book Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet to events in my life. In the book on page 9 paragraph one it talks about how after Marty’s mother passed away Marty kept busy at college to avoid his dad and the reality of the situation. Marty only came back home for laundry and in asking his father for money which his dad always gave him because he felt awful. In my life I have known a lot of people that deal with death in this same way. They work a lot and keep themselves busy to avoid the life situation that’s really happening. In my opinion, this is not the best way to deal with grief because eventually it’s going to catch up with you.

My car totaled out in a ditch, sirens blaring causing a distinct ring in my ears that seemed to last for days and blue lights strobing like a dub step concert, I sat there on my bumper listening to the radio like never before. It was a quite night in March of 2016 when an event would change my outlook on humanity itself. Never will I respond to call with out the thought of this may go bad quick.

On the cot, he would have been, in some sense, “ours”: an object of pity, an accident victim, “the noble red man, the last of his race.” But on the floor Crazy Horse was Crazy Horse still. On the floor, he began to hurt as the morphine wore off. On the floor, he remembered Agent Lee, summoned him, forgave him. On the floor, unable to rise, he was guarded by soldiers even then. On the floor, he said goodbye to his father and Touch the Clouds, the last of the thousands who once followed him. And on the floor, still as far from white men as the limitless continent they once dreamed of, he died. Touch the Clouds pulled the blanket over his face: “That is the lodge of Crazy Horse.” Lying where he chose, Crazy Horse showed the rest of us where we are standing. With his body he demonstrated that the floor of an Army office was part of the land, and that the land was still

The story you are about to read is me recollecting the events of January, 6, 2008. We just moved away from Judsonia Arkansas to a place called Fisher. You see around the areas close by there are fields of beans, and other agriculture products. Fisher is a small town closer to the countryside, which I particularly didn’t mind.

As I bounced along in the saddle, holding onto Dogger as if my life depended on it, he pristinely sat perched upon the saddle with ease as if we weren’t galloping at lightning speed across the field. The wind blew across my face as I pondered how to tell Dr. Liveseys all that had happened that night. About midnight, while the moon was straight up above us, I could see the shadow of the other men who had accompanied Dogger in his rescuing of me and my mother. I looked to my right and recognized the shopkeeper Mr. Tressler; I gave him a friendly wave and he nodded in return. I looked over to my left and was surprised to see a chestnut colored horse carrying the newest inhabitant of our town, a man who had identified himself as Barry. I looked

It’s good to hear from you, I’m glad to know that you’re enjoying and having fun in the countryside.

My grandpa and I were pretty close. We shared the same birthday, February 27th. From the stories I’ve heard, he kept telling my grandma how his granddaughter was born on his birthday. From the first time he held me, he had a connection to me. We called ourselves special friends. My 6th birthday was one of the greatest we ever shared. My whole family came over to celebrate and we had a tremendous time. It was time to cut the cake. When everyone finished singing he told me to blow out the candles. I asked him to blow them out with me but he explained that it was okay, he had enough birthdays by himself, so I could take over blowing out the candles. “No, this will always be our birthday.” I was six years old at that time but that’s the story my family tells me.