narrative story essay

"Maybe she isn't like us, maybe she is j-Ow Jules don't hit me there!" a unfamiliar male voice groaned in pain "Shut up Max. I saw it , Liz saw it, we all saw it" a recognizable female voice retorted back, it was the girl from the bonfire, Juliette "That doesn't mean you have to punch me in my no-no square, you could have just disagree with me like any other normal person in this pack" the male voice replied back There voices were a whisper but every passing seconded the volume of there voices raised

I still remember that terrible morning. I sprang out of bed and tossed the sheets aside. I was still in my pajamas but I didn't care, dashing down the halls, sprinting down the stairs, and staring intently at the wooden front door. My mom and sister were all ready grinning at the main entrance. The door swung open and my dad burst into the room. He hugged us like never before. After two years he was back. Tears escaped my mother's hazel eyes. Then my dad stood up and watched us as we all at once

I trotted down the dusty road to the farms to do my everyday work, and started thinking of what if I was a Noble? Eating two immense meals per day, and being the wealthiest in the kingdom! I stepped in something and it slightly collapsed under my foot. I brought my attention back, and I nervously looked down. I saw a very rare material, never used in poor villages like this: Clay! I scooped it up with difficulty, and ran back to my home. “Look! Look!” I yelled, but no one seemed to be there

I grew up in the mid nineties on the West Coast along the shores of Oregon. There were many nights of the seeming endless summer where my cousins, siblings and I would spin tales of great horror and gore. Tales of stumbling corpses coming back to avenge their deaths; deals with the devil where the soulless few would meet the worst death’s imaged, conjured up by six preteen minds. Oh, I can still smell the burning firewood, a small fire created by branches we found along the sand and a stolen lighter

any matter, although, this matter was contrary to the usual. my sister was acting very calm and subtle about the situation. As we reacted, our first question was “Who is the dad?” We were quick to find out all of the details about her side of the story, including having met her boyfriend of months at her work. This leads us right into the overwhelming news that he had previously had children, four to be exact, but only having three living with him. This made my father even more furious than before

When I first heard the news, I wasn’t shocked. Rather guilty and sad. As I sat in the car thinking about the past few months, I was filled with regret. All the memories came rushing through my head as I sob. I wonder why I made the choices to do that. I was about 7, and I was still living in China that time and I loved it. No stress, no worries, and I was a little brat. One day, I was playing outside in my yard when my aunts came over, “Dad fell today and he got a big cut on his foot,” said aunt

On a rainy day in November, Allison was sitting out on the porch staring out to the world. However, she started to recall the conversation she had with her best friend Jasmine. The reason she began to remember their conversation was because she felt that day reminded Allison of all the bad days she had in the last few years. Considering Allison was day dreaming, she watched and listened carefully to everything that was going on. On November 6, 2016, 12pm, Allison Began to get frustrated with

It was a cold stormy winter’s day In England. Joe was sitting by the fireplace with hot chocolate in his hand and a blanket wrapped around him whilst watching t.v. “It’s like a snowglobe out there” Joe said. “Sure is sweetie! why don’t you go get your snowsuit on and play in the snow with your little sister.” Said Joe’s mom. “Okay. Just where is my snowsuit? NEVER MIND FOUND IT!” Joe shouted across the room. So Joe went outside to see his sister nowhere to be seen. So Joe started to remember that

As we drive the dirt road passing every memory, one attracted more attention than others. This particular moment at the time was joyous, but only for me. It frightened Maggie and Mother. Why did I find so much delight in this situation? My childhood home was burning right before my eyes while the most valuable thing was inside: the quilts. The quilts were made by Grandmother. Her hands sewed every stitch by hand and every cloth used was worn by her. It was an antique work of art; it would have made

Yasmin mahmoud October 26,2017 English 3 honors 3.07 revising the narrative essay It seems like every passing day there is a shadow that is after me. I’m left with parts of me eaten away and left my mind corrupted from its everyday thoughts. The darkness steadily dissolves me away from the eyes that are known to be inquisitive. The burden that was left on me has more pressure than I expected for what i have completed. I discovered that revenge is made to be short lived. What i did was completely