Real World Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

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.

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

It's been an interesting year so far, and it looks like it is about to get even more interesting (more about that in a moment). What I wanted to write about in this here journal of mine is a new brand of shoe that I just purchased; they are called Nike running shoes, and I love them. They fit well, are comfortable and seem like they will last quite a while. I just had to have a pair (I think I'm the first one here at school to have them most of the other students have never even heard of them; Neanderthals, I know!). I predict they will be a big hit in the future. Okay, enough about shoes, let's move on to more serious matters, my love life! (just joking journal I have no love life right now). Oh well, I haven't written in here for the past few weeks, I guess I better talk about the events of the month. Let's see, it's October 1962 and a number of events have taken place; some here at the University of Mississippi, some in the United States and some internationally. Many of these events will likely have long-term impact on some very serious matters. Of course, I did not think any event would foreshadow James Meredith being admitted into the University, but, the first Negro being admitted into a higher education institution is an event that has only national implications, while the missile crisis in Cuba, could lead to death to thousands or even hundreds of thousands of citizens in both the United States and in Russia.

I was born on April 30th, 1981, in the small city of El Progreso, Honduras. Honduras is a country located in Central America. I regret that I don’t have many memories of my childhood, but I do have one fond memory. I remember my next-door neighbor would grow chickens. He had an incubator that he used to hatch baby chickens and I would play with them. I believe I had a good childhood growing up in Honduras, however, everything changed at the age of five. At the age of five I began having complications with my breathing and after a while my mother decided to take me to the hospital. The doctor’s discovered that I had a benign tumor between my lungs. My mother often tells me the memories of the events that transpired next: visiting hospitals in El Salvador, buying medicine from “herbal doctors,” and

On December 2, 2017, the undersigned detective interviewed the complainant's mother Ms. Katrina Pineda. Ms. Pineda stated that she is temporally residing at the above listed location provided by DC Safe. Ms. Pineda stated that she was involved in a verbal altercation with her husband Mr. Juan Pineda and decided to moved away from him.

On 07/25/2015, at approximately 0157 hours, Captain O'neill and I were on routine patrol. We were driving south on Gilbert street and at the intersection of West Mt. Vernon Street we observed a blue GMC pick-up (PA registration ZGT-5355) travel through a clearly and properly posted stop sign forcing me to slow my vehicle. I observed and identified the operator as Rafael CHAGOLLA-ESCOVEDO, who I am familiar with through prior contacts. I was aware that Rafael CHAGOLLA-ESCOVEDO does not possess a valid drivers license. I activated my emergency lights. The vehicle continued south on Gilbert, turned right (west) on Centre street and parked.

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

It’s official. I am Screwed. Anna periodically handed Norman her cell phone whenever too many girls was gaining his attention. It wasn’t the ones who tried to speak with him in passing or with as little attention to themselves and what they were doing. What had caused Anna to use her speed dial button on turbo were the ones who openly, proudly, and loudly wanted to get Normans attention and or an agreement to out out on a date, as friends of course. No one wanted to be responsible for him becoming happily single. Norman no longer batted an eye when Anna passed him her cell phone.

I responded to a verbal domestic between boyfriend and girlfriend. No physical altercation occurred between either parties.

've been interviewed a couple of time before and let me tell you; it is hard! I'm the kind of person who HATES being spontaneous. I like to methodically organize and plan every single thing that comes beforehand. "I'll just wing it" is a phrase that will never come out of my mouth.

John woke up to his screeching alarm at 5:30, slamming his hand down on the snooze button subsequently. “Fuck”, he bellowed in anger. He arose from his bed and rubbed his eyes as he entered his bathroom. John winced as he turned the bright light on, he grabbed a towel then hopped in his morning shower. He lathered up then rinsed off, doing the same to his hair. He dried off then headed downstairs and poured himself a cup of coffee. He turned on the tv, the news channel was showing live footage of a bus crash on the highway. He let out a snide laugh, “sucks to suck!”

Dr. Rosenberg nodded. “Correct,” he told her, “And Halfrida or Harold was intended to be the key, something that Emily Ryan herself was not fully unaware of.”

It is also assumed that the act of telling a story can provide insight into past, present and future events (Espinoza, 1997). By going through this process, individuals can find the importance of certain events and assign roles to people who are a part of their story. This act can allow a client to find new meaning and understanding to their reality (Espinoza, 1997). Not only is a