Who Are You?: A Fictional Narrative Essay

Jackie and I were now halfway to where Mike’s car wreck took place, on Highway 46. The accident must have been pretty bad because it was reported on the news, a rare case, I thought to myself. I prayed Mike was going to be ok. The drive felt like it was taking hours to get to the scene . I could feel the tension in the car growing. The fact that one of our closest friends could be gravely injured was a slug shot from a shotgun into our chests. Jackie was still distressed as she drove; tears dripped from her eyes like droplets from a cool water bottle on a hot day.

The students drew near as I reluctantly scurried towards the young mens bathroom where I could finally be alone. At the time, I lived in the snowy areas of northern New York, and while attending the infamous middle school, all of my worries in the world were heightened by 200%. From the first day of school, I wanted to fit in. While not even knowing what “fitting in” was, I was determined to do it. I desired to be liked by everyone around me with no worries in the world. I didn’t know that ironically, you couldn’t have both. As I tried to fit in, I noticed that others would flee from me in the halls as if I had an odor of a thousand pounds of garbage. I was confused why others would shy away from me in projects and hallways until the hints

There was something wrong with the car, once it kept bouncing up and down for the past 5 minutes and it also kept turning sharply by itself. Poppa finally had enough, and went to check what it was. He came back, shaking, and I could see tears starting to form in his eyes. He said the pipes are completely filled with dust, and rocks, and there is no way we can move. We started to freak out, because we have no way to get home, and there is a chance we never see tomorrow. We were on State Street, at least I knew that, even though that doesn’t help out the

I sat by myself in the second seat behind the bus driver. It had been raining all day and we rambled along slowly, splashing the sides of the bus with dirt and mud, with each puddle we drove through. A large puddle, almost a lake, comes view. We slow down easing toward the pond. “Are we going around?” I shout up at the bus driver. Our driver glances in the mirror at our at anxious faces, and a smile slowly spreads up his face.

“Don't count the days, make the day’s count” was expressed by Muhammad Ali. This quote indisputably explains that, you should make the best of your days and not let them go by. Muhammad Ali is widely regarded as one the most significant and celebrated sports figures of the twentieth century. Muhammad Ali is a fascinating person because he stood up for what he believed in, known worldwide, and achieved a lifetime of accomplishments.

My identity as a writer comes from how I view a piece of writing. I view it as art. To create something that intrigues someone, that makes them angry, sad, or confused is my goal when I write. I want the audience to feel something. It just so happens that for most people, writing with the strategy of pathos in mind is always extremely effective. My environment growing up was that of complete creative freedom and I had the privilege to be able to explore my interests at such a young age. My experience with growing my skills as a writer I think started with my love for creating artsy things if you will, but after many years of being stuck as a novice, I developed exponentially during my high school years. I came into my own as a student and learned how to let my longing to stay creative creep into every project I could get my hands on. But I struggled where I perceived creativity wasn't needed i.e. math and history. I became uninterested and skated by in that aspect. Why would I put so much of my time into something that so strongly opposed who I am as a person?

" I paced back and forth behind the car in the college parking lot we had pulled into. She was 37 but for some reason my mind couldn't grasp that detail in this moment. I look up into the car and see my grandma in the front passenger seat still panicking and my sister on her phone, most likely trying to call my dad at work. "Do you know where you're at?" "We pulled into a lot at Calvin College but I have no idea which one or what building we're by," frustrated with the feeling of helplessness, tears continuously streamed down

Macbeth is a popular play by William Shakespeare known for its violence throughout the play. Macbeth is one of the loyal and honorable knights of Scotland. Macbeth is the right hand guard of King Duncan, he swore to always protect and be there for King Duncan whenever he needed the assistance. However, Macbeth's personally changes steadily during the play. His powerful ambition for power caused him to make threatening decisions that only made him become desperate, guilty, and mad. He wanted to become king so bad he would do anything to be put in that position. He committed regicide just because he wanted the feeling of being a king. Regicide is the deliberate killing of a monarch, or the person responsible for the killing of a person of royalty. By the end of the play Macbeth was no longer an honorable

moved closer to her, the car door between us as she fiddled around inside, looking for something. I leaned my ass against the door and folded my arms under my chest, glancing around to look for anyone. All I saw was a group of people leaving the restaurant and heading for their cars, directly across from me in the main parking lot.

I worked away for the rest of the afternoon, then went home, got dressed (begrudgingly, as Jeffrey was stretched out across my bed taking a nap), and arrived at the bar around 9PM (as the email told me). I had avoided the Raleigh rush hour traffic by a good few hours (if I had left at 7PM, it would've taken me until 9PM to get there anyways!). It wasn't a bad looking place; maybe a little older than the buildings surrounding it, but I felt safe parking my car in the parking lot and not carrying in my pepper spray.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon of January 17th 1995. Dick Daverin was sitting in his office, reading the newspaper.

“Hurry or you will miss the bus, Again!” My mom caringly yelled. I nodded even thought she couldn 't see me and ran out the door. Running on a small burst of energy only got me past two houses. I stopped for breath before running again. Feeling the soles of my feet hit the pavement although I 'm wearing shoes. My brain goes into imagination mode and the Earth shifts. The ground that I step on melts away under my feet causing me to run faster. A zombie rolls out from the bush as I run even faster. My messenger bag hitting my side. I reached my bus stop and the world goes back normal. “Thank you. . . For what ever that was, Imagination, I 'm very lucky to still have you,” I thought silently as I boarded the bus. I take my seat as the driver takes off. Starring out my window and plugging in my headphones, I ignore my surroundings. It only feels like a few seconds, but we pull up into hell — I mean, School. High school to be exact. We get off at the entrance and my two friends are there waiting on me. Nico brightens up as he nudges a figure next to him. The figure looks up and I can recognize that face

“No! I’m the driver. I decide where we GO!!!” Glenda veered off the road onto an unmarked dirt path, the bus gaining speed. There was a startled cry in the bus and when I looked, back I saw my friends telling everyone

It was a gloomy Monday morning. The trees swayed back and forward in the dim, murky

I felt like i got stab with a arrow in my heart I said to myself,”How could he lied to me after all the trust I gave him.” I asked the lady where was Jerry in this moment the lady gave me no answer. I was frustrated I wanted to know where was Jerry I wanted to ask him why did he lied to me. Suddenly I little girl passed by she was wearing a old dress with some black and pinkish polka dots I stopped her and ask if she new a boy named Jerry she replayed with a “yes”I ask her do you know where he could be right now! she said “he went for a walk” I said thank you and a goodbye. I when out of the orphanage and to the cabinet I had rented I expected to see Jerry there and yes my expectations were right when I got there Jerry was sitting down outside of the cabinet with his head down.