I’m cold, I’m hungry, I’m bloodied, my skin is burnt, I’m near death and no one is who knows where I am. Even if they did they would not come and get me. But I must not, given I must fight to stay alive and when the opportunity is right, escape. I’m Patrick Robinson, proud member of Seal Team 2, the most elite SEAL team. My team and I were on a mission to take surveillance footage of meeting between terrorist leader Sadan San and the Russian President, and if the opportunity presented itself, kill the terrorist leader and take the President alive for questioning. Things went wrong terribly wrong my Team’s cover was blown when we were caught with weapons attempting to shoot Sadan. My team and I retreated to the cold harsh mountains in Northern Russia for 8 months. We hid saving our precious ammo and only shooting when we knew the Russian soldiers spotted us and were going to fire. We ate bark along with any other edible things we found, and put snow in our water bottles then let it melt. We were getting lucky because we were able to stay one step ahead of the Russians for the most part, but our luck began to run out. We had to use increasingly more ammo, shooting patrols that found out our position. Then on December 15th the patrol found us and overwhelmed us. We fired till we had no ammo, threw our grenades till we had none left. The five other members of my team were killed but it cost the Russians a lot of men because my teammates, my brothers continued fighting even when they had been shot multiple times, when a normal man would have died after they took the first bullet these guys they showed those Russians how we fight till the end. The only problem with the fact that my team and I killed so many Russians is that the guys ...
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...ed so I ripped off a piece of my already small coat and wrapped it around my side. Then my luck began to take a turn for the worse when a terrible blizzard began to hit. The wind picked up profusely and snow began falling in large clumps and visible was decreasing rapidly and I sighed and realized everything was against me. Then a thought hit me, it wasn’t that everything was against me it was that everything was perfect because with this snowstorm they wouldn’t be able to track me once they realized I had escaped. I smiled tightened the cloth I wrapped around my and began to march on with the slightest trace of a smile or at least as close as I had been to a smile in a long time. I started my march to freedom at I thought I had made it past the hardest part of my “vacation” to Russia and my adventure was over. But little did I know my adventure was just beginning.
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
The wind whistles by as he steps out on the snow. It crunches beneath his feet. He shudders. Its seventeen below outside and the sun isn't up yet. In the distance, men march and line up in fives. Guards circle the men as a beast circles its prey, with no forgiveness or mercy. He is in no mood to work, as his stomach still yurns for food and the thought that he still has to face a day's hardship filled with work, orders, and the harsh cold begins to set in his mind. Hope and any means of happiness are lost. He starts to walk out, trying to avoid any trouble, keeping his thoughts to himself; minding his own business. He reaches his place and stands appropriately in line, again, trying not to make any mistakes. He hears whispers and chatter all around. His eyes elevate from the ground searching the premises to see what's going on. The head guard ridiculously ordered the men to take off their jackets in the cold to be searched. With no say or power in this, the men accept their "orders" and reluctantly remove their warm outer covering; the only thing between them and the cold had to be removed. The day had just become even worse. Men like these were no ordinary men, but they were Zeks, prisoners of the gulag in Russia up in Siberia. A man, Ivan Denisovich Shukhov, was capable of surviving this horror thanks to his civilized guidelines and his strenuous work habits; his ways earned him respect as an individual in a society full of other Zeks and as an individual who's part of a squad. His survival became inevitable.
Maybe it’s the fact that I tend to stay in my room all weekend, which leads to people thinking I’m studying when in reality I am probably binge watching a TV show or maybe it’s my glasses, but most people who don’t know me too well assume that I am smart. Now that is a great thing for me because I don’t have to try as hard to impress them, but I end up finding myself in a bit of a problem. The problem is that everyone thinks I enjoy admiring school textbooks. But the truth is I’m usually admiring my Justin Bieber poster on my bedroom wall. Ever since I was in sixth grade I’ve been a huge fan of Bieber. His music always brought a feeling of calmness and back in the day his “never say never” motto, was what I lived by. I might still be living by that motto because I’ve decided to write this essay
It was similar to the suburban street I grew up on, but in lieu of cookie-cutter houses with stale Bermuda grass, there stood wood cabins with yards covered in snow. The reddish-orange light emanating from the towering street lights pierced through a white fog and gently illuminated the area. Exiting the car, I was overwhelmed with a flurry of new sensations. The gently falling snow absorbed all of the sounds I was used to hearing in a residential area.The low hum of passing cars, birds singing from the trees, and the sound of blowing wind appeared to be muffled, even silenced, by the steady falling snow. I felt enveloped in a cool, but somehow familiar blanket. The smell of burning wood was coming from every direction, as each house I looked at had a thin, grayish plume rising gently from the chimney. The plumes represented the warmth and comfort of the many people I imagined to be nestled by the fire. Looking down the street, I noticed how freshly plowed it was. A thin layer of snow and ice-- like icing on a cupcake, or the glass top on my parent’s nightstand-- covered the street. But on the side of the street sat a pile of snow that could have swallowed me alive. Feeling taunted, I stood there and weighed my options. Chest deep mounds of frozen crystals begged me to dive in and lose myself. Preparing to succumb to the temptations before me, I was momentarily hindered by the fear of my parent’s wrath. But had that ever stopped me
Your days consist of walking, running, and shooting, but in these three years I have been thankful enough not experience a whole lot of shooting. I’ve tried to stay out of trouble and keep safe for Sammie and Faith’s sake. That is, until my last day over here. I was supposed to be out of Afghanistan in twenty-four hours, all I had to do is lead one final convoy through a village. Coincidentally it was the same village I had watched Tom Butler die in four years prior. A group of five soldiers and I were guarding the last humvee when we fell far behind the group. Segregated that’s when the insurgents say their opportunity. They threw two grenades at the vehicle and blowing it up. The heat felt from the flames of the wreckage were unbearable. I managed to get the five guys and myself into a small food store before the thirty plus insurgents came out of the surrounding buildings. I put a call in to base giving them the coordinates of where we were. The officer on the phone told me he couldn’t get someone out there for at least five minutes. Five minutes went by when I finally heard the sound of the chopper’s blade in the distance. As soon as they heard the helicopter, the insurgents started to close in on us. No one in my platoon would make it out alive if someone didn’t do something. I saw only one way out for the majority of us, and it didn’t end well for me. I grabbed my pen and paper from my pack and
Tomorrow, I thought to myself. I was not ready to leave all the memories and laughter I had lived. I felt like I was leaving a piece of me behind, I told myself that I could not turn back. I had to move forward to start a new chapter of my life. At that moment, I began to hope and mostly believe in new possibilities. As I woke up, tears were falling down my face. I couldn’t believe that I was going to leave my hometown, my native land, my motherland. I had no words to describe the desolation I felt. My body tightened; immersed in my despair I finally decided to go and take a cold shower and brush my teeth. I had confusing and anxious thoughts. I was feeling defeated because I couldn’t do anything about it anymore but at the same time as a natural optimist, I was
The air hung around them, tensed and quiet. The fragility of her emotion was threatening to shatter. It is as if that time stood still for her. She fingered the brim of her notebook, nervously and took notice of the cup of coffee on her side. Controlling the sudden urged to drown the caffeine all at once; she carefully picked the cup and warily sipped its content. It had long been cold, and her tongue appreciated that fact.
Moving is lots of work took me 4 days to pack and 5 to get everything from one house to the new house in Firestone. It was an extremely sad day when we moved because we have lived in that house for 10 years and have had so many memories like when i had my first sleep over i went down the stairs in a pillowcase and broke my hand and the time my sister did a cartwheel down the stairs and broke the railing and my dad was so hostile and frustrated. The part that made me so hostile is when people had to come to the house and look at the home very cautiously i could not be in the house at all i had to leave and and be out of the house of half an hour with my 1 year old brother. It's extremely stressing to have a little brother that but I admire
Personal Narrative: The World The world is a messed up place and we are all stuck here until our lives are through, or until we choose to leave. It's strange that I go along with everything everyone tells me, such as that I should wear certain clothes or listen to certain songs. I often wonder why I do the things I do, but then I just realize that's who I am. People are confused about why they are here, and they don't understand what life is supposed to be about.
I became who I am today because of a life changing experience that occurred in late-November of 2013. As I sat waiting for the awards ceremony my palms got sweaty and the butterflies in my stomach multiplied. The announcer seemed to drag on the awards for hours when in reality it was only minutes until first place was awarded. It was then that I realized I was a State Champion.
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
I am by myself wearing my blue jeans and an old flannel shirt. It is cool outside but I decided to leave my gloves at home, feeling comfortable with my warm shirt and my sturdy boots.
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.
As I walked I let my eyes close and my feet feel the groove in the gravel. My mind, still asleep, dreamt of breathing. The lining of my father's old coat escaped inside the pockets and caught my fingers, which were numb from the cold. I would have worn gloves but the sun would be unbearable later in the day. The clouds would rise over the mountains and disappear and the birds would slowly become silent as the heat settled in. But for now it was just cold. I tried to warm my neck by breathing down the collar. It smelled like diesel and sweat.