Personal Narrative: The Perfect Utopian

Walking away from everything you once knew and starting over is never a picnic. Leaving Iraq, and moving to America has impacted my life more than anything. I was only 4 years old at that time, and the only English I spoke was “excuse me, water please.” My family and I did not know it then, but our lives were going to change; we would become “Americanized”. Learning English was one of the massive changes that occurred, the way I dressed (culture), and even the way I had power to go to school and educate myself.

I, Deputy Gough received a call reference a white Ford truck driving in the Gamester trailer court all over the roadway. Upon my arrival I spoke with David Vore and Jennifer Vore. Jennifer Stated that Randy was the driver of the white Ford truck that said, “All Good Construction.” David and Jennifer both stated that they saw the truck drive through the yard hitting a slow child at play sign and the stop sign.

I rush into my home and run up the stairs to my room. I jump on my bed and roll over to my laptop and open it quickly. I log onto the One Direction site and see that I made it in time to see the bid. I scroll and try and find my name and I see I'm in third place for the tickets and the time is running out. I've already bid $7000 for three tickets and backstage passes. The reason it's so expensive is because these passes are the last set of passes for their concert. 5sos is also playing so we would be meeting two bands and hearing both of them play.

In 2025, I will be twenty-nine years old and hopefully married. I will be married to my significant other of ten years Earnest Palmer III, who is a dentist. I would have been recently graduating with a bachelor’s in Culinary Arts and trying to plan to open my own restaurant, BubbaD’s Eateries. Knowing my big headed husband of mine, I probably had a baby then and trying to have another baby. Hopefully, by then Earnest will get rid of the idea naming our son, King. We will be living in the suburbs near New York City but working in the city. Being a woman with great memory, I probably wrote a memoir about my crazy life and trying to sell it to a publisher. If none of the publishers wants to publish my memoir, I will probably sell it the Lifetime

“How can a game have such an effect on a man’s soul?” – Robert Duvall, Seven Days in Utopia.

What Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci coined "The New World" was now overrun by man-eating zombies. It all started in Chile and Argentina; news of a highly infectious pathogen had begun spreading at breakneck speeds. By the time epidemiologists had discovered the cause of this pathogen it had already spread to the Western half of the United States and was making its way east.

You know that moment when you’re trying to reach the toilet paper but can't quite, then fall and kill yourself on a pumpkin? Yeah I know that feeling… it’s not good. It all started one very normalish day at 1065 Fitzgerald Ave.

When I was 5, my hands grew old and weary, tired of construction and calloused from work. Day after day after day, I would fashion new worlds and cultures out of little LEGO blocks. I worked fastidiously- creating tiny planes, guarded forts, and expansive cities that swept from one end of the carpet to the other. (I loved to make castles with booby-trapped moats and false walls and hidden entrances.)

On admirable 10, 2011, my term changed for eternity. I might have been Along these lines energized What's more frightened toward those same the long haul. It might have been a critical day. I might have been entering the united states from claiming america to the verwoerd Initially period. I might have been nearing here only to a get-away on visit my family, at the same time then i chose with sit tight. My mother. Needed me should sit tight in the states, on account of she needed me should bring a greater amount chances Previously, existence What's more. Should help my gang The point when i develop up.

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

Death. It’s a concept man I'm telling you. God, death is literally the worst. Death. Jesus there it is again, I can’t go a couple goddamn seconds without the word death reappearing in my stream of consciousness. If you really think hard enough, or fuck it, just not think at all, you can come to realize that death is just an everyday thing. It’s common among our everyday life, hell just Sunday a bunch of faggots were executed and poof, they’re gone. Forever gone, with only a fallen body left to defend any blip of existence. I pondered this, I don’t want to be another dead body just sitting there, rotting. Christ, just the thought of me rotting sickens me, seriously just burn me or some shit but don’t let me rot, I’m not an apple.

At birth, entering this new world alien, I was surrounded by the unknown, captivating, yet petrifying. This new world—a step down from the warm dark place where all you heard was a repetitive but appeasing thumping—was full of new sounds and colors. Having no knowledge about this new world forced me to learn as much as I could about the world I now inhabit. Unfortunately for my parents, I learned through destruction. Everything I acquired, I would drop in an endeavor to break it into its subcomponents. I attempted to measure how fast it would fall with nothing but a ruler and a stopwatch. I dissected objects, opened up televisions, phones, collected broken electronics, and anything that beeped or moved. I was quite the troublemaker.

As night comes all my stirring thoughts gather. I lay in my murky room and almost as if I am looking at myself from outside my body. I feel as if I am away in a dark bitter cold place, but this place provides comfort as it whispers in a strident voice the idea “perfection”. ‘Perfection Perfection Per- fec- tion ‘I repeat to myself. Funny how if you repeat a word long enough it no longer feels like one. This word this ever so churlish word began to bind me it became mine I embraced as it sucked the life away from me. Perfection became my own special parasite that I nurtured and cared for.

In this world of technology and scientific advancement, we have lost ourselves. We value money more than life. We idolise people like The Kardashians who portray the "perfect life", yet are the epitome of a vacuous existence. We humiliate others and build a ladder of dead bodies to achieve their wishes and replenish their hunger for money. We scavenge for gratuitous items just so they can look down on others who cannot afford it. Even with everything, we still want more, so we can nourish the greedy, egoistic monster inside us which feeds on lifeless objects. Many of us go into frenzy as if they are possessed by a voracious demon.

He gave a tiny brushstroke on the side of the train that smeared radiant yellow oil paint across the rusted metal. It was small, but it was bold. Mixing warm colors together, he gave another quick stroke of cadmium red just overlapping the yellow he had laid down. He was never able to afford oil paint before, so on the rare occasion that he could paint with it, he treasured every drop, being meticulous with each application. He didn’t care much for it, but it was necessary to avoid wasting such precious mediums. But now money didn’t exist, so he was free to relish in his strong, quick, impressionistic style.