Who Is The Only Story I 'll Ever Tell?

I heard the faint high pitched beeping of my alarm clock as I opened my sleep covered eyes. I attempted to roll out from under my covers but immediately retreated as I felt the chilly spring air touch my skin. While I was mustering up the motivation to get out of bed, I glanced at my alarm clock. “11:00 AM” it read in boxy, glowing numbers. Had I really slept in that long? I finally rose from my bed, traveling down the stairs to make myself some breakfast. “Hi, girl!” I greeted my dog where she was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I smiled to myself as I turned on some music, opened the fridge to retrieve some eggs, and turned on the stove. It felt like a fine Saturday morning until I remembered that I had a lacrosse game later

When I was a child, most of the stories or situations I have been through was, mostly, my dad hitting me and my parents fighting constantly; so pretty much I did not really grew up watching Barney, traveling to places, and going to Disneyland often. I thought I would have to live like this for the rest of my academic life, but one day around the age of eight, my dream came true. My parents had enough of each other, so they went their own ways; even though, I was glad that I do not have to life miserably anymore, I was not. I thought that everything would settle down and live a calm life with my mom, but as a result, I ended up raising my two siblings. My dad left the house, my mom was in her own world, and I had to watch my siblings. I thought my parents divorce would benefit me, but all it did was for me to not live as an eight-year-old would. I thought that my dream of going to a great university and becoming a Physician Assistant came crashing down. A couple weeks later, my dad came back and long-story short, my siblings and I had to go hang out with my dad for

The emotional focus of Alice Walker 's story is rage, red-hot and isolating. As I read this piece, I became livid, not only at the thought of her devastating injury and her family 's apparent disassociation, but also at Ms. Walker herself. It appeared to me that she never let go of it. Instead, she seemed to embrace her anger.

I remember falling asleep, but I don’t remember being in a bed. I had fallen asleep in the hall due to my emotional state. My body didn’t need the sleep. My mind did. I’m actually happy I did. It got my mind off all my problems and sorrows for a good while. I sit up, pushing the unfamiliar blankets off my body. I’m in a strange hard bed in a foreign room. Everything around me feels new and alien. This isn’t my dull little prison. This room is slightly decorated with light brown walls and a dresser covered with random things.

I woke up on the very edge of my bed my blankets tossed on the floor and my head buried into a pillow. I groaned as I pushed myself off the bed picking up the blankets and laying them on the mattress. I stretched my arms and yawned as I walked over to my bathroom and twisting the knobs trying to find a perfect temperature.

From a young age, Anna had been thrown from home to home, living with a callous grandmother when she was found to be too ‘intolerable’ to be around her poor addled mother. Her room, which was originally upstairs, was seen as being too much of a risk to her mother considering her numerous rumored problems and as such

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

It was a normal morning, still laying down in the warm embrace of my down comforter. I set my daily alarm to go off at 5:50 a.m., and after about 5 clicks of the snooze button, I muster up the courage to emerge from the sheets like a kodiak leaving hibernation.

My alarm blasted its sound in my ear, waking me up. I desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but it was another dreaded school day. Fighting my desire to continue sleeping, I walked over to the bathroom and splashed cold water from the sink on my face to wake myself up. Unfortunately, even that couldn’t completely shake my tiredness. “Oh well…” I sighed as I began stroking my hairbrush through the length of my chestnut-colored hair.

Foolishly, I believe that perhaps I can fall asleep again if I try hard enough; and I spend the time trying to convince myself that if I bury my head in my pillow and cocoon myself in the sheets like a scared child, then maybe, just maybe, I can pretend like today never has to happen, and I can find comfort in sleep just a short while longer.

The combined noises of my alarm clock and my mother calling me, along with the smell of coffee, forced me awake. I sat in bed for a minute, rubbing my eyes and working up the nerve to step out from under my warm blankets, then swung my feet onto the floor and headed groggily into the kitchen.

Alice begins by startling at the sight of the Cat sitting on a tree bough, while the Cat only grins at Alice. As dear Alice asks for advice on which way she ought to continue, the Cat claims, “if you do not know where you want to end up, then surely it does not matter which way you go” (Carroll 49). This simplistic view of decision making plays on the complexity that humans weave into simple decisions of everyday life. Alice’s confusion is spotlighted by this overtly simple take on decisions, and her confusion can then be tied to the absence of a concrete identity. The Cat proceeds to reveal that in Wonderland, “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad,” and this awareness and acceptance of “the fury” within himself further serves to bold Alice’s insecurity (Carroll 49). Perhaps, if Alice knew who she was to others – and to herself – in Wonderland, she would not deny the madness of Wonderlands creatures, including

The emotional focus of Alice Walker's story is rage, red-hot and isolating.  As I read this piece, I became livid, not only at the thought of her devastating

Ann Marie stayed on the ground, unsure of what to do with herself, considering she was alone again, she thought she would be happy. But now, she suddenly felt lonely, and even sadder than she usually felt before. An overwhelming feeling of depression hit her, nothing like she had ever felt

Getting out of bed and continuing on with life became boring to Daisy, like the color of jeans after being washed in the washer a few times; faded. After her father past away, she no longer was in the mood to be a person, she no longer felt the need to keep a conversation going, and she no longer enjoyed the things she used to love. It was not due to the of the lack of sleep she was getting, it wasn’t that. She was not tired at all. Like every other person who has ever experienced loss, she was unhappy. So very sad that even the simplest of things like getting out of bed seemed pointless to Daisy. It was very hard for her, being so down that it became a struggle to get up in the mornings. Yet every morning, Daisy gathered up all of strength