Personal Narrative Essay

At two in the morning seven years ago, my nine year old self was jolted awake by my mother. Begrudgingly, I peeled my eyes opened and tried to blink the sleep away. “What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing no one would wake me up at this hour on a any normal day, especially since my parents knew I was not a morning person. “We need to go to the hospital,” my nine-month-pregnant-mom began, “my water just broke.” Through the shivers from the September weather, I got dressed and brushed my teeth faster

I look around the dark room, watching my allies. One sharpening one of his swords, another punching a bag of sand. And another boy in the window looking down over the city. I sit in the corner, just watching them. All I can think is, how did I become a fugitive of the entire country? I stand up and wander to the door. “Hey,” the girl calls after me, looking away from her sand, “You know it isn’t safe out there” I nod back to her, “I won’t go far, I promise.” I say with a reassuring smile. I walk

The sand is cold, the sky overcast, and the waves crash against the shore echoing harshly through my ears. I see clouds rolling overhead, I can smell the salt of the ocean, feel the texture of the sand, taste the electricity on the air and it all points to the coming storm. Is it real? Can anything be real when seen through someone else's eyes, felt through someone else's skin, tasted through someone else's tongue, Breathed through someone else's nose, heard through someone else's ears? This is what

My entire life I have always been the smallest person in the room. In elementary school, I was a four-foot-nothing, fifty-pound, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pretty little wisp of a thing. My best friend, Michelle, was, in contrast, was a year older and nearly two heads taller than me, and outweighed me by at least once my own body weight. She also loved to wrestle and would take any opportunity to smash me in a wrestling match. These matches were friendly (if only in the sense that after they were

In the year 2008, I attended elementary school enrolled in the third grade. I enjoyed outdoor activities with a burning passion, and I had many friends. One weekend my best friend Dimitri slept-over at my house, and he and I decided to go on a bike ride with my younger brother. Unfortunately we only had two helmets that functioned properly, but since I always put friends first, I gave my helmet to Dimitri. We were having a great time racing up and down the block until my brother found a pair of rusty

It was a normal Saturday evening get together with my extended family and close family friends enjoying each other’s company. There was a large selection of barbeque, sides, and drinks. We were all enjoying ourselves playing 31. I am only sixteen at the time and was privileged to be able to take part on the adult festivities. The card game is fairly simple, you are dealt three cards and the objective of the game is to be the closest to 31. In my family, we have a $1.50 buy in to the game and to continuing

As I approached the door, the loud sound of tears from behind the door grew onto me. I tried to reach for the door, but hesitance and uncertainty began to run through my body. For a moment, I stopped and took a deep breath that echoed into the dark, silent hall to prepare myself for what may lay behind the door. I waited. I slowly turned the knob and the door was now free. There lay my mother with her eyes slammed shut and the innocent, pure smirk that had always rested across her face before she

You can never judge a book by it's cover, sometimes that book may be pretty on the outside but it could be broken on the inside like a mirror that was dropped with pieces that could not be put back together. I come from a family where we were once a “Family” but we let differences brake us. At this point in my life I was eleven years old learning to be independent,learning how to handle school on my own, not letting others define me as a person or who i was going to become. Again I was only eleven

teaches me to embrace new chances. My house is not full of sorrow and frustration that many people will feel if they lived in my home. It is a home full of joy and laughter for many years to come. Throughout this experience I learned that my personal strength is optimistic. His death taught me to express my strength more often. While I found my strength, I also found my weakness: inflexible as it took me time to heal from this tragedy.

I was on the cusp of abandoning the window, as there was a dearth of any physical specimen worthy of speculation; however, I lacked the capacity to spark the thought of movement, as the space was occupied by what I’d just seen. I couldn’t help but run the previous scenario on a continuous loop about my mind in hopes of perhaps gathering some indication as to why it was significant, why it struck me as odd, or why I’ve ultimately deemed it worthy of such thought. Nevertheless, it appeared to be inevitable