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Reflection on writing personal narrative
Reflection on writing personal narrative
Reflection on writing personal narrative
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Today I wake up and stretch. I look around and see what's going on. I spent the night up on the bed and is so very comfortable. I normally get to spend my night sleep next to my parents if you will. I tend to stay on my mom's side as she is more willing to let me have some space. Dad doesn’t like when im on his side. I hear them starting to get up from there sleep. Mom will normally get up first so I stand up and look at her and jump off towards the door. I know she's the one who let me out first. So I head to the hallway then turn around and sit and stare at her hoping she gets up. Luckily she does. I wait patiently for her to come out the room and head down the stairs to the door. At the do I sit patiently while she gets there. Finally she opens the door and let me out. …show more content…
I head down the fence and circle the yard to see whats going on. Nothing to today so far. I go take care of my business and head out to look at the front of the house. I thought I heard something that way. I look around but don’t see anything so I head to the door. Nobody is there to get me. I head over to the window and put my front paws on the window sill and look in. This normally gets there attention. After a few seconds the door opens and I head in. I head over to my house and lay down. Time for a quick
I come home from college and see my mom cooking dinner over the stove as I walk up the stairs. My tiredness sets in as I rush to my room to put down my heavy bag. My mom yells to me as I start to change my clothes.
Because of some of the circumstances that make me who I am, it is hard to say I have any one definitive home. Instead, I have had two true homes, ever since I was a young child. What makes this even more of a conundrum is that my homes have always had little in common, even though they are only a few hundred miles apart. Between the big city of Houston, Texas, and the small town of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, I have grown up in two very different towns that relate to one another only in the sense that they have both raised me.
It was time for bed which meant it was story time. I would lie down in my huge bed, all cuddled up in my fuzzy blanket. I patiently waited for my mom to be done with washing the dishes. We started by choosing a book from the many books on the shelf. Our shelf was filled vivid multicolored books. All stacked from the tiniest to the She began to read with her Mexican accent, reading those English words carefully to not mess up.The comfortable feeling in her voice so soft and silvery. I would begin to yawn and I felt the sleepiness hit me, which was normal. I would rub my eyes and try to be awake. I felt my eyes slowly closing. Before I knew it, I was knocked out.
I decide to watch the sunset from wherever the sliding glass door leads. I slide out of the unfamiliar bed and use my hands to feel my surroundings that the light through the window does not clearly show. I am caught off guard by the light in the room coming on. "Ahhhhh!" I scream.
I jumped up from my chair in the living room and sprinted into the kitchen. I opened the kitchen door, immediately seeing my mom's favorite bowl from France. Completely shattered. I knew my mother would kill me when she found out. I sighed and told Levi to go watch TV in the living room, so he'd be out of my way.
I walk inside and go to the office I walk to the door of the office, stand behind the door frame, look for people and see Mrs. Elaine. I walk up to Mrs. Elaine and she says “Hi Nora. We called your mom she will be here soon. Okay?” I run up to Mrs. Elaine and give her the biggest hug I can without hurting my arm that feels like it’s burning. “Hi Nora! We called your mother and she said she will call your grandma to come pick you up from school. Okay?”
Only his old weathered beagle barks fiercely at the anomaly. It runs back and forth, with frantic gestures. Nobody else seems to mind the strange entity. My hand reaches for the wet newspaper at the end of my driveway.
I lay my head back on the ground and look up to see the sun high above me. I lay here numb. My mom clears the table of our breakfast plates that just a few minutes ago were covered with gravy, biscuits, and smoked ham. She then drops a load of laundry in the place where the plates had once been.
Living in a very safe and small community has sheltered me in a few ways. Growing up in Arundel, I never questioned whether I was in a safe area or not. As a kid, I never thought about the people in the world that could have bad intentions, everything was simple, living in a town where everyone knows everyone. With crime not being very common, I never felt that I was in any danger. Because my father is a cop, I was always protected from the little crime that had taken place.
So it all started a month ago. I was sitting on my couch reading a book, when somebody knocked on the door. I hoped it was a pizza-delivery guy with my hours ago ordered pizza. When I looked outside there was nobody there. I immediately forgot about the suspicious knocking and went back to reading one of the sequels of Harry Potter. I hadn’t been reading a book for 5 minutes when somebody knocked on my door again. This time I didn’t even want to get up again, but I did, still hopelessly thinking of my pizza. I opened the door and there was nobody there again. So I decided to take a little walk to see who is knocking at my door and then running away.
My mom woke me the following morning. She had decided to bring me breakfast in bed...
When I awake, I can remember what had happened. All of my parents are in the room. My stepdad, mother, father and stepmother all sit in the room talking. How could this be? This was a tragedy! Why are my parents not fussing? Why are they standing there talking?
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.
Getting up like the speed of light, I sprint into the bathroom. Walking towards our dining room；my energy supply station where my body is filled up and energized with mum's excellent cooking. Daffodils on the table smiles and bows as if they are saying 'Good Morning".Hearing the rumble sound of the lawn mower, I know dad is using his dark green weeding machine, a very noisy contraption which I am sure wakes our neighbour! After breakfast, mum continues her daily routine which starts with cleaning up the kitchen and giving commands to other members in the family. She ordered me to clean and tidy my room immed...
A few minutes later, my mom woke me up and we went into a room. There