The Agony - Original Writing

As I walked in the school doors, I noticed that there were groups of people from different grades. There were other Freshmen, Seniors, Sophomores, and Juniors. I was terrified because some of them had turned around to look at me. I slowly walked past them and I was in the search to find my friends. It hadn’t taken me that long to find them and I was glad to see them because it had been all summer that I hadn’t seen them. Around ten minutes later, it was time to go to class. I had been trying to find my class, but I couldn't find it. I had eventually found it, but I was late. For the rest of the day, I had a hard time trying to find the rest of my classes and I was even late to some of them because it took me a while to be able to find the classrooms. Some teachers understood why I was late because they knew that it was a new campus and that I wasn’t used to it yet. Soon, days had gone by. As days went by, I got used to getting to my classes on time. One challenge that I had the most difficult with was the fact that each and every student got to get a Chromebook of their own. I was very surprised because I didn't think that that school could afford laptops for each student in the whole

Afterwards, I stared at my backpack, which lay across the room. I could hear it taunting me, almost laughing at me, and as time dwindled by, I could feel the pressure my undone homework sitting in my backpack. But that little voice inside my head was still convinced I had enough time to finish it later. Nevertheless, I procrastinated, but this time I was in the second stage. In the back of my mind, I heard that little whisper telling me to start my homework, but that little voice was drowned in the noise of the bigger, much louder voice convincing me I still had plenty of

In An Unbroken Agony, author Randall Robinson chronicles the history of Haiti from tragedy to triumph. Robinson, a social activist , founder and former president of TransAfrica, an organization of African Americans, that is used to promote constructive U.S policies toward Africa and the Caribbean. Randall Robinson is a distinguished scholar in residence at Penn State Law and Penn State’s School of International Affairs. He is co-producer, creator, and host of the public television human rights series World on Trial, which aims at bringing public awareness to important human rights issues and the international treaties that controls state conduct when dealing with human rights.

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

Another memoir? It feels like the teachers in every grade meet and come up with the same assignments. It’s pointless. At least it’s like a free period. It’s why I sat in the back. I can be fully secluded and do what I want, even though it’s a large open library. Jam out, watch some videos, whatever. I won’t do well on this paper or in this class, but forget it. School just doesn't seem important compared to anything else in my life. In every class I just sit and think of all the better things I could be doing. Why do I have to be stuck here? I should just walk out. My life has just been going downhill for the past few years. Who would want to write about that? Nonetheless have somebody read it. A few minutes ago, my teacher asked why I didn’t

Tears stung in my eyes as I gazed down at the dreaded product of neglect, already feeling a cold weight tug at my heart. Looking at my practice log, I determined that within the twenty-four hours remaining before it was due, I needed to make up the eight hours of practicing I had been lazily putting off. After informing my mom of this impossible feat, she told me that I would not be staying up past midnight to practicing as a meager attempt to salvage my grade. The next day I turned in my log with a hint of discouragement as I awaited my grade. I didn’t fail the class, but I still had to live with the knowledge that I could have done better. I tried to justify what happened by saying I wasn’t used to Jr. High with its additional seven classes,

My day began with Fergalicious blaring from my cell phone to wake me up at 5:45 a.m. It took me several minutes to muster the strength to roll out of bed. It was time to visit Luther College in Decorah, Iowa. After a warm shower, an hour of primping, and a quick breakfast my mom, dad and I were on our way to Decorah. The hour drive seemed to last an eternity. Several things were running through my head during this long drive. I was reminiscing on my visit to the University of Iowa that I went to the day before, and how at home I felt in Iowa City. I was also thinking about all the things I could be doing besides this college visit. Eventually we pulled up to the Luther campus my mom turned to me in the back seat and pleaded:

The movie version of, The Agony and the Ecstasy, is based on a book, with the same name, written by, Irving Stone. It is about the biographical story of Michelangelo and the troubles he encountered after Pope Julius II urged him to paint the Sistine Chapel.

“I want you to try it.” My dad said. He paused, then he continued” you never read and you aren't doing very well in literacy, so i need you to read”.But i didn’t want to, so i ran, ipod in hand, right up the steps to my room. I laid my bed and just looked at the ceiling... After a little bit I looked at my alarm clock and it said 11:30 in the morning on a saturday! I was going to waste my whole saturday in my room, waiting for my dad to come and talk to me about boring reading. I sighed the longest i ever have and layed back down.

The buzzing of the bell echoed in the crowded hallway. It echoed even louder in my ears. The sound of footsteps followed as the high school students rushed to their classes. On my own, I stood there with my textbook in my hands as I skimmed through paragraphs one after another. I tried to soak up as much information as I could but I knew better that it was all in vain. It was hard to concentrate with my heart pounding loudly in my chest. “I’m going to fail” I told myself as cold beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Nevertheless, I kept trying to make sense out of these scrambled words in front of me. Midway my mind began to drift. I could almost see myself in my room last night, lying on my comfy warm bed with the phone in my hand. I remember

The light in my room is flickering, almost as if it’s a kitchen timer that’s timing me to do this before time runs out. Straight ahead of me are the pictures of myself when I had been a kid. I wondered “What would my younger self-do?”. I knew for a fact that she would stick her ground. At that moment I a shiver go down my spine. A rush of electricity ignites my body. It was now or never I thought. I’m ready to release myself into the wild, after being held as if I were a captive animal, longing for release, for nearly a year.

I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth and recoiled my fingers from the keys of my laptop. Bringing my hands together I dug dirt out from underneath my nails, glaring at the chipped polish with disappointment in myself for thinking that doing the dishes after getting them done wouldn’t do any damage. I tilted my head back and looked up at the studio lights, shining against the maze of cords and beams as I sat listening to murmurs around me and subtle paper shuffling that had been absent seconds before; a stirred pond, a shook snow globe, mud confusing the water, snow fogging the

As I trudged bleakly through the double doors, slowly sitting down in my seat, and listened as the cushion deflated underneath me, I wondered whether I could just go back to my dorm and sleep. Thoughts ran through my light-headed brain, all I could really think about had to do with tissues, and lots of water to mask my hideous cough. I hated being sick, especially during school. Nevertheless, I still went to every one of my classes, even if I felt horrible. I always told myself during times when I felt like giving up, just one more hour, just one more day. Just like me, thousands of people went through similar situations, but the way they respond to them showed their own personal perspectives.

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.

I had enough of all the bad things in my life. “Mikena, time to go to school.” My mom said. I grabbed my small, mint green backpack and I went out the front door. My dad was waiting outside. He gave me a kiss on the forehead. I felt like a princess at that moment. My dad went inside the car and I started walk to school. My dad is going to his workplace which is a restaurant. I arrived at my school in less than ten minutes.