I have been left home alone at that evening; I spent a long time watching TV. Few minutes before midnight, I was looking to the moon at the roof, smelling the fresh air, waiting for a call. While enjoying the privacy, I heard a wired voice, at one moment, I thought it was my phone‘s ring tone, I literally went checking where I did leave it. When walking down stairs I noticed that the lights I turned on were totally off, so I continued with very careful steps until I reached my room. As I record, I left my phone on the table, but it wasn’t in there. Honestly, I started to shiver, my blood was freezing. “ Is there somebody else in the house who would have stolen my phone ? “ I said to myself. Suddenly, my phone ringed, it was on my bed. Once …show more content…
For instant, when I gathered my pieces again, the image started to show clearly in my mind, “ The voice I heard was my mother’s “ I said to my self. I started a conversation with my inner self “ A key ! why would mom ask for a key ! which key ! didn’t she go for a ride ? maybe she lost the car’s key ? but, why would she speak with such suspicious voice ? “ there was no other solution, despite checking our parking garage. I plucked up the courage and run down to the garden, the garage’s gate was closed and that what increased my feeling of uncertainty. I opened the gate, neither mom nor the car were inside. “ Is she driving ? did she involve her self in a road accident ? what might be happening ? “ I said to my self”. A faint light was attracting my attention, I got closed to check it, I began to jog toward the source, I trampled a stick to realize that the light was like a reflection of a dog or a cat, I stepped forward to know whether it was my pet cat, suddenly the cat attacked me. I moved back from panic. I felt that someone or something touched my back, thus, I screamed out loud. “Sweetie, wake up it is time to go school “ my mom said. Then I realized that the whole was a
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 thought I was going to leave empty handed until I spotted the stack of boxes in the far left corner. There was a small wooden box on the top labeled David Walker with black sharpie. This is it. I thought. I sprinted out of the attic holding the box in one hand and the ladder in the other. Out of breath, I plopped down onto my bed, sitting with my legs crossed and the box out in front of me. Answers… Please give me answers. I thought as I opened the box. Inside held a picture of a man with dark skin and short black hair. I assumed this was my father. In his arms was my mother. They were both smiling uncontrollably as if it was the best day of their lives. What went wrong… I thought. Underneath was a black journal, tied shut with a thick string. I lifted it out of the box, untied the string, and began to read the
Most people are wearing masks. That meaning they have a social and an inner identity. I am a college. I also wear masks every day.
Happiness is fake, like something forced upon me; something not real, fabricated and I don’t like it. I’m supposed to like it though. I’m supposed to like everything the government forces on me. I feel like I’m the only person who doesn’t feel content with my life, everyone else seems to be perfect while I’m falling apart at the seams.
When I finally found my words I asked what was going on and my mother told me that my sister was in a car accident. When we arrived at the scene all I could see was my sister’s car sideways in the middle of the road with the entire front of it smashed up towards the windshield. As I looked around I saw my sister, emerging from a tan SUV I had never seen before, running towards my parents. The ambulances began to arrive and I was in my sister’s arms when I realized that there was no other damaged car at the
Nausea and fear flooded my veins, churning my stomach into a bubbling pot of anxiety. Heat spread across my face surely turning it a bright noticeable shade of red. Thick wads of saliva ran down my throat. Sweat traced its way down the back of my neck. The smells of coffee and sandwiches overwhelmed my senses. My eyes darted around the table from one parent to the next. Bright white light illuminated the street outside the window making the three people around me look like nothing more than black shadows. Dad, who sat across from me, cleared his throat. He studied me with a sense of pride, he looked more like he was glowing, but his gaze shifted to my mom, my real mom, and that look got a little more hostile.
In early childhood we try to find our will and have to successfully pass the autonomy versus shame stage, which is the second stage of Erikson’s study. Achieving some of my mild milestones helped me throughout the process of completing this stage. Some of the milestones include being toilet trained, beginning to speak, starting to run and dressing myself. I always loved to dress myself. One time I put on my sisters dance costume and danced around house acting like a ballerina. This action reminded me of the modeling theory, which is a learned behavior by observing another individual and engaging in that behavior. After a while my sister would become annoyed because I would never leave her alone and I continuously copied everything that she
I looked around, knowing that finally no one was around. I fled from my house and quickly went a few feet down the road to where the old couple had now lived. The steps creaked as I crept up to the door, and I looked either way before turning the doorknob. They had not locked it before they left. The hinges on the door made a horrible screeching noise as I slowly pushed it open. Unopened moving boxes looked as if they were strategically placed simply as decoration. The only box that appeared to have the seal broken was a box near the kitchen counter labeled in bold black letters, “Lila”. I could tell someone had been sitting here previously because of the glass of water and reading glasses next to it. I placed my hands in the box and pulled out stacks of papers mixed with photographs. My heart dropped as I pulled a photo from the pile that looked exactly like me. The girl in the photograph appeared to be slightly younger but possessed all the same facial features as me. She wore a colorful sweater with a sweet smile and had a purple crystal hanging from her neck. I held onto my necklace, astounded by the similarities. I turned the photo around and on the back, shaky handwriting spelled out “RIP Sweet Daughter Lila, 1971-1982”. It all made sense to me. As I flipped through the photos, each one seemed more and more like me. Suddenly a loud voice behind me
The afternoon my parents found out about my wrongdoing, they caught at the front door and made me kneel listening to them. I was sweating and tired from long hours of gaming and biking. I did not remember any of their words anything until fainting. The floor, wall, and celling mixed together, and my vision darkened. I heard my fast-paced breath and felt my heart throbbing like about to explode. Moreover, echoed in my head, my mom's and dad's panicking voices as they dragged me into bed and fetched me some milk.
As I waited in line for the haunted walkthrough my heart felt like it was coming out of my chest. As I got closer to the front I could hear the screams of the workers and the guests. Then, I finally got to the front of the line, the black curtains blocked what was inside from my viewing which made it worse. The director told us to go in and this is the time I have been waiting for for
When I finally left school, I said farewell to all of my friends and I started walking home. But when I started approaching home, I knew something was off. So I started running to my house. But I was too late, when I was able to get inside I saw my entire family on the ground dead and covered in blood. But I saw some object behind the couch and I couldn’t believe my eyes, I became so scared when I saw that there was a frightening creature
Nearly half of my lifetime ago, I had written out those four letters in sharpie on his bruised flesh, making him pinky-promise (the specified appendage made the covenant all that much more official, of course) to think of me every time he wanted to shoot up, so that I could help him through it. I had expected it to work, to fix him; after all, I’d always been able to make him all better before. It wasn’t until I saw him in person again years later that I realized how wrong I was.
3:40 am, I woke up abruptly. My feet were cold, my shoulders were cold. I had walked to the window sill in my sleep again. When I looked down I saw blood and froze; it was Kitty, she let out another scream and then I realized it was her voice screaming, this was no longer just a dream. My head told me to run to the phone but my body froze, I was weak from shock by both my own past and Kitty’s body.
Another day has gone by. Or, what seemed like a day; the clock tower is over a mile away. The faintest trace of sun in the smoke-filled sky is my only indicator of the hour, if I could even see outside through the sad excuse for a window. A new tenant now lives in my room, as if our tenement didn’t already have enough people. He was yelling at us to make space for him. He is the only tenant that I know that still cares about space. I’ve given up on the prospect of privacy.
Once upon a time, I saw the world like I thought everyone should see it, the way I thought the world should be. I saw a place where there were endless trials, where you could try again and again, to do the things that you really meant to do. But it was Jeffy that changed all of that for me. If you break a pencil in half, no matter how much tape you try to put on it, it'll never be the same pencil again. Second chances were always second chances. No matter what you did the next time, the first time would always be there, and you could never erase that. There were so many pencils that I never meant to break, so many things I wish I had never said, wish I had never done. Most of them were small, little things, things that you could try to glue back together, and that would be good enough. Some of them were different though, when you broke the pencil, the lead inside it fell out, and broke too, so that no matter which way you tried to arrange it, they would never fit together and become whole again. Jeff would have thought so too. For he was the one that made me see what the world really was. He made the world into a fairy tale, but only where your happy endings were what you had to make, what you had to become to write the words, happily ever after. But ever since I was three, I remember wishing I knew what the real story was.