Crying, I recall when I said to myself, “I will die!” I couldn’t think of anything else. I was locked in a small and dark room for two consecutive days, I was starving, and there was no one there to help me. Simply, I was frightened and worried about how I am going to get out of this room alive, although there was a war going around the whole city. It all started on an early Friday morning when my mom told me to run errand for her in a nearby market. The weather was calm and cloudy. There were no people walking in the streets, or even any other kinds of life. I wondered why the situation was different, but any way I headed to the market to fulfill my duty. To my surprise, when I arrived at the very center of the market, nobody was there. I asked myself if I came earlier than the others, and then I decided to wait for some minutes. I hanged around at least 30 minutes, but nobody came. My heart started to beat tremendously, and terror invaded my mind. When I was about to come back home, everything changed. Firstly, I have heard the sound of a bomb. It was extremely loud and I could not hear anything for a minute, then I fall down because of the severe pain in my ears. After couple minutes, I lost …show more content…
Squatting on the ground, I was weeping. I couldn’t see anything, not even my hand although it was not far from me. I made my eyes widely open to make sure if my eyes went blind or not. When it was around 8pm, I started looking for the window. Touching my hands on the corners of the room, I finally found it. I used up all my energy opening the window, but it was covered with hard dust and it was rigid. I fell down, and cried a lot. I couldn’t sleep throughout the whole night, because I was hungry and thirsty. In addition to this, it was cold in the middle of that night. I was shivering and coughing persistently. Time passed, and it was early in the morning, but nothing
After an event of large magnitude, it still began to take its toll on the protagonist as they often “carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die” during the war (O’Brien 1187). The travesties that occurred with the brutality of war did not subside and began to affect those involved in a deeply emotional way. The multitude of disastrous happenings influenced the narrator to develop a psychological handicap to death by being “afraid of dying” although being “even more afraid to show it” (O’Brien 1187). The burden caused by the war creates fear inside the protagonist’s mind, yet if he were to display his sense of distress it would cause a deeper fear for those around him, thus making the thought of exposing the fear even more frightening. The emotional battle taking place in the psyche of the narrator is directly repressed by the war.
You are alone at night, and all you have is a flashlight that doesn't work and a sleeping bag. Then you see a church and decide to go behind it to stay away from a person’s eyes. When you get there you put everything down and put new batteries in your flashlight. When you start doing this, you hear voices around you and start wondering if you are not alone. Looking everywhere you find nothing, then you come back where you were and your stuff has been moved. Then you start wondering around and you come upon a mental cover covered with grass. You open it up and you find stairs and your curiosity get the best of you. You head down the stairs and then you feel like something is pulling you down. You get down there and it feels like you have been down there for weeks and when you come back up, you do not remember anything that just happened. This experience has been felt by many people that
My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.
Death’s whisper traveled in my ear, wrapping around my mind, “I can take you away from this madness. Beyond this hell, that is life.” “Will it be more peaceful there?” I asked. “As serene as heaven above.” Possessive Depression responded. My heavy heart fluttered at the thought of serenity. No more painful days, or lonely, restless nights. No more of this living death. Anxiety murmured all my insecurities tempting me to make the decision, as every tick-tock from the clock he held, echoed in my brain, putting fear in me of things that will never happen. I thought about the invitation to eternal sleep, “I would finally be able to extract this smiling mask…” Thus, I decided to join the dance of death, done dealing with my dilemmas.
Ok. One night my sister and I were at my father’s house. He lives in Kingsville on 10 maybe 9 acres of land in this [small pause, looks at ceiling] I wouldn’t really call it a farmhouse, just a kind of small house out there. The previous person who lived in the house was supposedly shipped to an asylum, for, you know, normal stuff [pause] schizophrenic or something. My sister and I were at the house one night and we were cleaning up the house while my dad was on some sort of job out of the state and my step mom was at work in the hospital. We were doing our stuff, and then the power flickered, and came back on. We didn’t think anything of it. Then, outside of the door, we heard a noise, kinda like a dog barking, but like, just enough not so that we knew it wasn’t. So, we hear this noise, and start to get fre...
I am awoken to the sound of tree branches hitting the window and a faint ringing in the distance. I slowly get out of bed worried about what is happening beyond my door. I grab my flashlight and quickly head downstairs. I immediately run into the kitchen yelling for someone, but no one answers. I frantically look outside and see the trees swaying and the night sky turning into swirling clusters of clouds. I quickly run into my younger brother’s room and see him shakily holding onto his bed post with tears streaming down his face.
The day finally came to board the plane. I was feeling nauseous and had a steady flow of adrenaline rushing through my body. The thought of being shot at, or even worse being taken as a prisoner of war was weighing heavily on my mind. I fought my mind
It was late I thought. Almost midnight yet I was still unable to sleep. I stared thoughtlessly at the moving shadows mumbling to myself, "it was just a story" but in my heart I knew it wasn't, it was more than a story, much, much more. Then, a crow appeared in the middle of my room. The crow stared at me with such intensity that I fell backwards into the safety of my pillow. I stared at the crow in shock as it disappeared into my closet and that's when I heard it, a long piercing whine that was like a nail to a chalkboard. I prayed that it would go away, I prayed with all my heart but it stayed there continuing its long whine. It was then when I caught a glimpse of it. I saw two glowing bloodshot eyes stare at me. I let out a scream born from terror and almost immediately my dad came bursting into my room. He stared at me with confusion but all I could do was point a shaking finger at my closet door. Cautiously, my father marched into the closet door only to find nothing inside. Then, without warning, the closet door slammed shut along with my father still inside.
I hurt everywhere. I try to slowly open my eyes but it is so hard, the blinding light hurts my head, I slowly peel my eyes open to find myself in a strange bathroom. Everything is old and dirty looking and I don’t mean dirty like “when my mom told me to clean my bathroom and there was only a ponytail on the sink and a few boy pins, dirty,” I mean it looked as if nobody had cleaned this bathroom in 15 years and still people used it. Once I establish myself, my eyes begin to wander, I am in a stained tub with all of my clothes still on me.
grabbed a few things and left the kitchen. Before leaving the house I grew up in, I grabbed the note i wrote to my mom and threw it away. If she doesn't have the decency to tell me where she is than neither do I. While walking through the living room, I look over to see that the television was left on. It was on some news channel, they described a girl who was found murdered in an alleyway. The thought of something happening like that so close to where I am terrified me. Turning off the television, I quickly make my way to the front porch. Making sure to lock the door, I stepped out of the house.
We parked all our strollers and made our way to the bathrooms. I dreaded entering the cement block building, but I knew there was no other way. I tried to get done as quickly as possible, but there were such long lines that it was impossible. Once I had finished my business, I made my way outside and searched for a familiar face. My heart sped up as I realized I did not recognize anyone around me. I tried to stay calm, but soon my eyes started watering and the familiar lump in my throat appeared. Faces blurred as I tried to comprehend what was happening. I walked to the stroller parking; all the while my head whipped back and forth searching for a family member. When I made it there and noticed our strollers were gone, I really began to panic. My palms became sweaty and I thought I might throw up the cotton candy I had earlier. As my small mind started going into overdrive and thinking, “They left. They forgot about me,” my body slowly walked me back to the sour-smelling restrooms. I sat on a bench around the outside of the building and began to cry. I was positive that they had done it on purpose, and that my own family did not love me. As I sat there hoping it was not true, my mind continually repeated the words my father said to me. "If you ever get lost don't wander off. Stay where you are, and we will come find
Waynesboro, Georgia is my favorite place on Earth. My father is a member of Beaver Dam Hunting Club. We enjoy going to the hunting club every chance we get, it’s our little weekend get a way. While at the hunting club, we obviously hunt a lot. Sitting in a deer stand is my heaven on Earth. Nothing is as peaceful as sitting in a deer stand, I am allowed to sit there and just let my mind run wild and there is absolutely nothing than I enjoy more.
The moment we stepped foot into the hospital, I could hear my aunt telling my mother that “he is in a better place now”. At that moment, something had already told me that my dad was deceased; it was like I could feel it or something. I felt the chills that all of a sudden came on my arms. As my mother and grandmother were both holding my hand, they took me into this small room. The walls were white, and it had a table with four tissue boxes sitting on the top. My other grandmother was there, and so were my two aunts, my uncles, and
I was lying in my own filth, being tied up for several days, without being able to go to the toilet; it's not a pretty sight. My body was slowly wasting away, no food, and only drops of water I couldn't cope. I could see my team-mates, my friends, slowly going insane. They were talking in there sleep, screaming for freedom, but what was the point. The guards treated us like filth, something they'd stepped on and couldn't get rid of. I could see their point though, we killed their friends, and so they determined to kill ours. But I had to escape, I was the only sane one in there, my mind was at ease. You see, everyone else was going crazy wondering about their loved ones, but I had no one.
I don 't remember like it was yesterday. I don 't remember what I was wearing or what time it was. I don’t remember the details of the day as if I had just lived it. Sometimes pieces of the day come back that I hadn 't previously remembered. Like when I ran outside with my face buried in my hands.