My brother and I were at the Bronx Public Library with a few of my brother’s friends. The library was located right in the heart of the town, overlooking The Coachman’s Inn, which happened to be my mother’s workplace. The dirty, graffitied, cream bricks of the library gave off a sketchy vibe. The librarians were the meanest people you could meet. They were always yelling at us for making too much noise, even when we weren't making a sound. I was wearing my white polo shirt and my navy blue skirt; my brother wearing his light blue polo shirt and his creme khaki pants. I was sitting in the computer area; my brother, at the tables. Remembering I had forgotten my library card at home, I decided to ask my brother, Joseph, if I could use his. The …show more content…
As I was pulling my right arm back to the side of my body, Joseph caught me. His right hand caught a very firm grip on my skinny right arm. He dirty, long nails started stabbing into my arm. He brought up his left hand to get an even firmer grasp on my arm, making sure that I would have no way of slipping away from his grasp. He elevated my arm so that it was closer to his face, he opened his mouth and he put my arm into his mouth, biting me. I was so mad to the point where I couldn’t even think of the pain he just brought to my arm. I pulled my arm away from him, his mouth still closed on my arm. His teeth grinded across my arm, causing some slight bleeding. When I finally got my arm back, I smacked him across the face. My tiny hands doing nothing to harm his body.The only thing my hands did was anger him even more. He stood up, grabbed my head, and slammed it on the corner of the table. I didn’t know what I could do that would hurt him more than he had just hurt me. I decided he had won the fight. I didn’t want to cry in front of all of Joseph’s friends, because I didn’t want them to think I was a cry-baby. My plan was to walk away, with shame, and go to the bathroom and cry, but I couldn’t do that just yet. My brother and his friends looked at me. All of their jaws simultaneously dropping and their faces going pale white. One of Joseph’s friends whispered to him and said “Joe, she’s bleeding!” Joseph then pointed to my head. I
Everything for a year had been leading up to this point and here I was in the middle of the happiest place on earth in tears because my friends had abandoned me in the middle of Disney on the senior trip.
I was interupted by a man who cleared his throat. I turned around to see what was going on, he growled so I turned back around. I was now terrified. I noticed that my father had fallen to the back of the pack I was curious as to why he did such a thing. I was finding the trip very difficult as my legs hurt when I took a step. I heard the same man clear his throat I looked behind me and I saw his machete unsheathed and raised in the air, I knew this was not going to end well for me. The man slashed at me with his machete. The pot I was holding fell and broke. I was running to my father and while I was doing so I cried, “My father, they have killed me!” as approached him Okonkow, my father slashed at me with his machete.
How would you describe the average library setting? Libraries are usually serene and quiet. They are orderly places where you can rent books, relax and read, type an essay, or study for a test. The norm or expected behavior in a library is a behavior that is respectful, quiet, and serious. Generally, you keep to yourself. One does not visit the local library to catch up with an old friend or goof around. For this assignment I chose to violate the library norm. I chose to do so in a subtle manner to avoid making a big scene or getting kicked out. By violating the norm, I displayed deviant behavior. This is any behavior that violates the norms that apply in a given situation. I portrayed someone who might be referred to as a “creeper” or stalker. The role I played involved a few variations of the same general idea. My actions always involved staring. The purpose of my experiment was to elicit a response from each of my targeted subjects.
I got dressed as fast as I could so I could make it to Strawberry with my papa. At this time of year in Mississippi weather was always chilly. So I made sure to put on my warm jacket. But in the 1930s no clothes was really warm, we couldn't afford the good jacket that I wanted but at least I wasn't like Cassie who wore ugly clothes. I suddenly thought of Jeremy and I had to make sure he was getting ready. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “JEREMY ARE YOU READY YET? WE HAVE TO GO TO STRAWBERRY TODAY!”
Personal narratives allow you to share your life with others and vicariously experience the things that happen around you. Your job as a writer is to put the reader in the midst of the action letting him or her live through an experience. Although a great deal of writing has a thesis, stories are different. A good story creates a dramatic effect, makes us laugh, gives us pleasurable fright, and/or gets us on the edge of our seats. A story has done its job if we can say, "Yes, that captures what living with my father feels like," or "Yes, that’s what being cut from the football team felt like."
This story takes place in a New York City school in Manhattan, in the nineteen- sixties. The book covers the span of one school semester form September to February.
I received a voice mail today from Sean McKnight stating he has a meeting setup with Ken Barber and some other individuals on the executive board of Illinois Joining Forces (IJF). I felt it was my duty to inform the group about some important facts that Mr. McKnight is very good at hiding. I met Mr. McKnight during my time at NIU. I just served my time as the NIU Veterans Club president and decided it was time to let someone else take the helm. Matthew Galloway the current Veterans Club president introduced the club to Sean McKnight at a veterans club meeting. Sean came in and presented himself as a seasoned veteran’s advocate who has many connections throughout the state of Illinois and Washington D.C. He promoted his organization that he was starting Warriors Guarding Warriors as a revolutionary concept that has not been thought of as for yet throughout the veteran community. Finally, he offered his services to any veterans having trouble with VA benefits or the medical process. At the time we did not know that he was not officially certified to help veterans, and nor did he actually know the proper process or paper work needed to help our fellow veterans. Sean offered to be the Veterans Clubs mentor. The club held a vote and
Reading and writing has always played a vital part in my life. From toddler to adult, pre-elementary to college, I’ve managed to sharpen both skills to my liking. However, even though it significantly helped, schooling was not what influenced me to continue developing those skills into talent. Many different things shaped and influenced my learning, and now reading and writing have become the safety net of my life. I know that even if I have nothing else in the future, I’ll still have my talent and knowledge. To ensure my success, I hope to further develop those skills so that I may fulfill my wishes.
Boy was I scared to admit to him the reason for my tears and weakness. So, as you would guess, my father asked- “Why are you crying, son?” I thought for what seemed eternity and said….. “Dad, normally I never cry when I get into a fight but this time dad, there were three of them.” I stopped and waited for his response.
Reading and writing have been and always will be a part of my life. At a very young age I used to love the both of them. I would write stories about monsters and fantasy worlds and I would read about them too. Slowly as I grew older my ability to write so creatively just withered away. Writing soon became only for school purposes. My love for reading continued, but I was no longer reading about the fantasy worlds with unicorns and fairies, instead I became keen to reading crime fiction. Although I had a love for it, it no longer became something I would do daily, it is now done whenever I have the chance to.
“I was dragged to a fence covered in leaves, and they took the blindfold off. I could see the other girls bleeding and sobbing in pain. I saw an old woman holding a knife so sharp I could see the drops of blood sliding down the edge. It was the blood of the other girls. Three other women were holding down my arms and legs, and another was sitting right on my chest, covering my mouth. They try to put pressure on you, so you don 't cry for the next girl to hear. I can still feel the weight of her today. I can still visualize all their faces as I talk about this. I can see what each one of them looks like and the emotions that they had — so empty, like they didn 't see me as a human being.The cutting happens very fast. What the cutter does is
I love reading. It’s something I do every day and it makes me happy. Reading is a way for me to get away from whatever is going on in my life that I want to escape from. My love for reading hasn’t always been here. I was never one of those kids who started reading straight from the womb and it was a challenge for me. When I was young I never thought that I would enjoy reading but luckily that idea changed.
I wake up in this room. My mother is to my left crying with her face in the palms of her hands. My dad, he paces the floor with his hands in his pockets. I am scared I can barely remember what has transpired. As my mother stands and looks at me square in the eyes, the nurse comes and says with a grin on her radiant face “Hello, Mr. Howard. How are you feeling?” I attempt to sit up, but my body is aching. My dad hurries over to help, but it was no use the pain was overbearing. I began to weep and apologize. My dad with a stern look on his face says, “Andra, you are fine now just relax”. How could I relax? I am stuck in this room with no memory of what happened.
“Why don’t you use your locker? You’re going to have back problems before you even graduate”. These are words that are repeated to me daily, almost like clockwork. I carry my twenty-pound backpack, full of papers upon papers from my AP classes. The middle pouch of my backpack houses my book in which I get lost to distract me from my unrelenting stress. The top pouch holds several erasers, foreshadowing the mistakes I will make - and extra lead, to combat and mend these mistakes. Thick, wordy textbooks full of knowledge that has yet to become engraved in my brain, dig the straps of my backpack into my shoulders. This feeling, ironically enough, gives me relief - my potential and future success reside in my folders and on the pages of my notebooks.
During my freshman year of college, I had met one of my best friends, who go by name Jill. (She lives in New Jersey and while I live in Pennsylvania) I found it to be strange that sometimes, it feels like we have grown up with one another but in reality we have only one another for four years and I couldn’t be more thankful. I can remember when we met at school as if it was yesterday.