Personal Narrative-Void

The sparks fly in the air, there are marshmallows in your hair, and you’re with your favorite people in the world. This is called the best place on earth, for me at least. I enjoy camping so very much, you meet new people, experience different things, make new memories, and have a blast. You also see new sights, smell some things, and always wake up to the birds singing and not the bustling streets of the city. Camping is my go to activity.

You could tell my brother was screaming as much as he could with his small little lungs. I quickly ran over to our tiny bathroom wondering what was going on. There you could see my little brother using all his force to hold up my mom who had fainted on our cement floor. Even with the two of us repeatedly yelling at her to wake up, her eyes stayed closed. I began to really worry. I ran over to her bedroom and scurried through my blanket looking for my phone. As my sister dialed 9-1-1, I ran back into the bathroom where my brother was sobbing. My sister had already called my aunts and cousins over. They were all trying to help wake her up. They called out her name multiple times. They also hovered rubbing alcohol under her nose, in hopes of her waking up. I let my brother know that everything was going to be fine and that the ambulance would be here in no time to help my mom. I was shaking as I sat next to my brother helping him hold up my mom. My older cousin took our spots and helped sit my mom up.

When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.

First of all I was in my dark room with the only light being my t.v, I playing Xbox with my friend Skylar, we were playing Rainbow Six Siege a counter terrorism shooter. It was a late on a dark, stormy night, it was bomb objective and only I was left on the team to face five other enemies defusing the bomb and I slowly and stealthy with his silenced pistol picked off about two enemies outside the objective roaming and then pulled out his primary the 416-C Assault Rifle and went in blazing in the objective and his heart was racing he picked off another two enemies and that’s when he began guarding the defuser waiting to find the last enemy. “Can you search cams Skylar?” I asked Skylar.

The cavernous and threatening woods that stretch out before me are a godless sight, unfolding out for what seems like forever. Beautiful, yet terrifying. The low hanging clouds that seemed to almost hold some kind of electricity cover the woods like a descending blanket of mist trapping its victims below. The vast, contorted trees leak sticky sap like poisoned back of a frog; the trunks twisting up insanely, like the despairing limbs of the damned begging for forgiveness. The damp earth beneath my feet softens as I walk down deeper in to the undergrowth. The distant howl of a strange and unfamiliar creature echoes all around me and suddenly I am a submarine, submerged in this unknown woodland setting.

As Bill took his first step in the woods, he takes a deep breath soaking in the scent of oak and fresh ash. “far removed from the seats of strife”, not having a warm bed or hot meals even a full night rest. Knowing he had one abventure ahead for Bill and Kats. Both having to hike 16 miles everyday over rocks,trees, crossing ice cold rivers, and hearding the rain outside of thier tend and the roaring of the bears at night.

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.

There are millions of people in the military and I have always been fascinated by the concept of it. The interesting part was never the war, they were intriguing, but there is too much death involved. I am fascinated by the concept of being a part of something bigger than you in addition to being one big family fighting for the same thing. I believe it all started with the two thousand one movie Pearl Harbor, no matter what they were facing in their personal life they all worked together. I never really knew anyone involved in the military, but that all changed when my oldest brother joined The United States Air Force.

I stopped for a moment to get out my flashlight and head lamp before it became pitch black. Light works differently in the woods. There is no light unless it is from the sun or the moon. There are no streetlamps or houses with a light on just, dark. It was absolutely frigid once the sun vanished behind the mountains. I was walking up the road that leads in to the camp. The first that hit me was the smell of rancor, The un-mistakable smell of water mixing with soil. The stream was running strong pushing clear all of the leaves that have drifted down from the trees. The stream was flowed like a small reviver collecting all the water from the rain. I set up my hammock just next to it in-between two towering scrub oak trees with squires flying between them and fell asleep to the sound of the trees talking and the streams

I awake in terror, in sight of what just occurred: Blood on the seat in front of me. I look to my left and there is a large piece of metal plastered to the floor. My flight neighbor was not as lucky to have not been struck by the debris from the plane crash. I look up to spot the fighter jet that had shot us down; although I don't succeed, I can still hear the roar of its jets earlier that day. I explore the wreckage for any other survivors. My military training taught me not to panic, that would only lead to more problems. As I scour the plane I look for anything I can use. I find a chocolate bar, a bottle of whiskey, which had not been destroyed. I also find a sharp piece of shrapnel shaped like a knife, and I find a blanket. That's all I

I came to and looked around at the eerily familiar landscape, but something was missing. The house. It was gone. I slowly walked towards the plantation that I had visited so many times before, and as I grew closer and closer, I saw something peculiar. What was a rock doing in the middle of an empty field? The field was empty except for a single tree, which

It was a hot sweltering Saturday in August, August twenty-seventh to be exact. I remember waking up that morning with my stomach in knots we were to play the Hot Springs Bison. Sure, I played JV last year and practiced all summer with the first team but now all the hot god awful gut ranching two a day practices were about to pay off.

As Dave Allen, 19 year old Kings Cross crack dealer sprinted down the empty alley, all I could think of was which part of his body would a bullet make him hurt most. When I finally fired the bullet, I could hear it enter and shatter his pelvis, I knew I’d hit a kidney. I wistfully strolled over to his groaning body and took my favourite knife out of my coat pocket. As it passed cleanly through his spasming abdomen, I thought to myself how nice a olive wood handle would look instead of the deteriorating plastic handle that had moulded itself to my hand after so many ritualistic, accident stricken ‘investigations’. I relished in the rush of cold, blooded murder, it felt

Sometimes when I am alone I wonder, “What if I was able to go back in time?” I think of the countless memories and the time periods that I would visit. From riding horses with Native Americans to my very first middle school band concert, it would all be an amazing experience. I could change the outcomes of things, make things better, or just go through the memories all over again.

I gazed up at the mountain now drenched in light red and squinted, trying to keep my eyes open, as the bright sharp light burnt into my eyes. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I finally closed them unable to the pain any longer; I wiped my watery eyes and thought where Samneric’s fire was? There was a rumble inside me, and I looked hopefully at the jungle wondering if I could find Samneric’s fire as well as something to eat. In the morning light the jungle seemed like an old and tattered rug chewed to bits by moths, yet despite this the jungle and the whole island was beautiful shining in the sun’s warmth. I kept on walking as the jungle beckoned me calling me with its beauty. As I passed between the trees, the canopy overhead plunged me into velvet darkness. The only source of light was from the small gaps in the shell of overlapping leaves, where the sun glistened through. Moss and lichen covered the ground in abundance, thriving in this humid atmosphere, and feeding on the eerie green light that managed to penetrate through the ceiling of emerald leaves. The strange green shade and the various knotted pillars made it impossible to see for great distances or to walk about freely.