Personal Narrative

Staring at the screen, the young author sighed in frustration, her fingers once again failing her as she was distracted by the din of the news on TV. Resigned, she shut it off and turned back to her blank document wishing for the ability to channel her emotions towards the high expectations placed before her, as well as the stigmas. She was growing tired of the starkness of the world around her.

It was a fine, summer, Saturday when everything changed for a young teenager named Miller Frederick. School had already started for Miller and he was at a new school. That summer, his family had moved from Pensacola, Florida to Dewitt, Michigan so Miller didn’t have many friends. He lived in a very rural area so he didn’t have many neighbors he could hang out with. Miller had just gotten back from his first day at his new school and he became friends with another new kid from Germany. His name was Reginald Kleinhans. Surprisingly enough, they had a lot in common. They both loved basketball, horror movies, and writing.

What do you mean they're here?" She asked frantically, walking forward. "God, the kids!" She started to sprint, but Jackson grabbed her arm.

"Who's there? Who's there?" she whispers. I look around but can't figure out where it's coming from. It seems to emanate from inside my skull.

With his wishes caused rebellion against his parent’s rules. At age 13 was when he began to experiment with smoking marijuana and vandalizing property using spray paint and breaking things abandoned facilities. As his parents made the rules stricter such as his curfew, the more he acted out on them but using substances. Although Wyatt’s friends were always apart of unruly behavior, they are still good people. They were who he related to. Also, believing he is man enough to know when to stay

She looked down at the coffee table to see a brown box filled with a few things. On top, she could see some family photos in gold color frames. “Thank you,” she said to him. She walked over to her father’s chair and sat down. She became aware of an uneasy feeling around him and wanted as far away from him as possible. It may have come from her dad complaining about him for a long time. She was now wishing for her uncle to show

“What the f-” I started to snap, blinking when I saw nobody there. I looked around, visibly confused before a small voice

"Who's that." Josh had stopped so suddenly that behind him the others had quietened. Adam leaned over his shoulder, and stared in at the figure motionless on the sofa inside.

It was just the beginning of February. The winter cold, brutal, and yet normal for the people living in Michigan. My best friend Brian, his uncle Craig, and I were driving back together from Craig’s up north cottage. Brian and I were riding passenger with Craig in his Chevy Silverado pick-up. We were coming back from the annual Perchville Polar Bear Plunge that took place in Tawas, Michigan. A lot was on my mind since it was the second semester of my senior year, and graduation was right around the corner. I had no idea what I wanted to do, or where my future would take me.

Rudy growled in a dog dream and brought me back. What good memories that structure held, if not uniquely bizarre. I laughed to myself as I lifted my old weight belt that was overhanging the picture of the Victorian. It was filled with student inscriptions carefully burned into the leather. I had a new belt now because this one was completely filled with charred insignias of students who had graduated from Valley Oak. I held the belt with pride and took in the names, each a vivid memory. I caught sight of a large lettered massive scrawled signature….JAMES……….. He had been Valley Oaks first

Ten years pass. He can still recall the crème blush coloring of his lover’s cheeks and the tapered point of her nose. He can recall the ringing vibrato of her laugh and the way a shrill, yet violent sneeze would wrack her body. Fifty years. He knows she had auburn hair and olive skin, but what color were her eyes? Gray like an oncoming tempest or a deep ochre married with lighter hues. One hundred years. His grandchildren stamp their fingerprints on the glass of the frame with her photo in it. Their mother wrenches the portrait out of their pudgy hands with a sigh, lost in the memories of twirling around on the kitchen tile to the soundtrack of the woman’s hums. Two hundred years. Her image is engulfed in the flames of a roaring blaze and lost

Vivid smoke softly floats from the brick chimney. As she gazes at the foggy sky through the front window by the fireplace, creases fold beneath her sunburned eyes. Streams of black eyeshadow slowly flow down either golden-brown cheek. It’s mid – September, and she expressed far too many times every little piece of what’s behind her destitute heart. Hannah. That’s her name. Shoulder-length Auburn hair, a beautiful smile with ocean blue eyes and a red rose tattoo on her lower back she received last summer while in New York. It’s visible when earlier during the day she bent over to throw a pile of leaves on Dan, her boyfriend. Hannah is clenching a pencil; her crumpled diary thrown next to her feet captures the deep sentiment she’s without a doubt missed hiding in plain sight.

“Who is she? WHO IS SHE?” The accompanying figure paused and whispered to the woman, “What do I say again?”

“Hey, Loren,” Danny spoke on the line, “Come here.” She stood in the middle of the hanging photos. Her brow was crumpled, teeth worrying her bottom lip. The picture in front of her caused her stress. Loren came in, noticing the way she stared at one picture. He looked at it, seeing past the dead body. The sheer amount of blood made him nauseous. He liked to pay attention

Every day she came dressed for school in brilliant colored leggings partially covered by a relaxed sweatshirt unevenly rolled at the sleeves. Her plump belly took shape under her shirts, creasing slightly, like a curtain conforming to its width. Her feet plowed into her white Keds and snuggled inside fluorescent socks scrunched at the ankle. Mary Beth’s Keds curved toward each other as she