{11} During my first night in the station, I was taken to an interrogation room by three agents. In the room, I was seated and handcuffed, and then interrogated and questioned about which Oromo party I support. “ I know nothing and I have no connection or any involvement with any party in the country . I am a peaceful civilian and a national team Boxer.” , was my response. {12} The officer standing in front of me slapped me on my face and asked me to tell them the truth. Once again I told them
no words said after 10 minutes I realized she was in a zone preparing for tonight’s game and I did not want to be the one to disrupt that. As we sat in the locker room the inevitable gametime was looming ahead. The locker room was as silent as night, except for an occasional sentence of modivation from a person such as Hoing or Barton, the people the team looked up to becasue they were as tough as nails day in and day out. I entered the arena and the court stood right before me. Seeing the cheerleaders
going to play. He said, “I know what we’re going to play.” He told me we were going to play Power Rangers, I didn’t really know how we were going to play it, but I just acted like I knew I was doing. So we went into our grandparent’s room and he told me that this room will be our headquarters or base.
humming softly as it swung. My choice in seating must have seemed funny to the gator as he let out a soft chuckle. "Kid I ain't gonna bite you." The gator's low voice rumbled, "That is unless you want me to." He burst into laughter, filling the entire room. Feigning a smile, I tried my best not to look him in the eyes. This was awkward enough without the innuendo thanks. Seeing that Rowen was still occupied with his uproarious laughter, I took a moment to assess the situation. Some gator was waiting
spine as I stared across the lifeless room that I was placed in. The whites of my eyes sank into the apathetic walls around me, although I could sense a frenzy in the corners of my eyes. Machinery dressed in all-white coats whirred across the bleached halls to protect the bundles they were rolling. Meanwhile, I, a lifeless soul, became entranced by the stench of disinfectant, staring at the pen and paper in my hands. Without the power to enter the hospital room of my mother, I understood that the body
By next period, all I could think about was what Gemma said about the epiphany. The less we exposed ourselves, the less strange things manifested. Did that mean we would never return to the red room or go through any more doors? I had said it myself, but for some reason, this seemed unsettling. My juvenile curiosity wanted to continue, but Gemma had been right from the beginning, it was dangerous, and I had to accept that. Like a flash of lightning, the conversation I had with Celeste on Monday,
music coming from the living room. I wasn’t tired but mommy told me to stay in my room so sleep seemed like my only option. Brittney tossed and turned in the bunk above me and Michelle snored in the bottom bunk bed on the opposite side of the room. Rayvaun got up and went into the living room. Told us to stay in the room but he gets away with everything because he is the only boy. We are the same age but that doesn’t count for anything. Even though I couldn’t leave the room he left the door open wide
people talking punctuated every so often by an exclamation. In the waiting area, there are forty people waiting in chairs and five people queued up to see triage or registration. To an outsider this environment might look like chaos but as an emergency room nurse the chaos has become familiar and quotidienne. As I make my way to the nursing station I push past stretchers that line the busy hallway. The patients in the hallway have placed blankets and pillows over their eyes in an effort to block out
I thought what I had done was bad, but knowing that I would sleeping in the same room as an accomplice to murder, slightly scared me. I told myself to ignore what Vince told me, or else I would bring it up and say something stupid along with it. After being in here for six months I did not feel as bad as I thought I would. I never
"She’s in the living room talking to Robert on the phone. As I and my dad’s conversation progressed about putting minutes on my prepaid cellular phone, my aunt came in the living room and said to me, "Your mother wants you to come and lay back down with her.” Baffled, I just simply said OK. I went back to what was called the “Hall of Fame Room" at my grandma’s house where there were pictures of everyone in the family at various ages. My mom and I slept on the floor in that room whenever we visited
waiting room was torture, and the waiting was even more torturous. Two fake, and very plastic looking plants sat in the corner, shining abnormally in the harsh lighting. My palms were sweaty from anxiety and the unbearable heat that seemed to encase the room. My mom sat at the couch opposite of me, her reading glasses illuminated from the glow of her cell phone. Music played softly from the empty front desk that sat behind a wooden baby gate. It wasn’t that I expected a therapist’s waiting room to look
Personal Narrative Adult's Negative View of Teenagers There is a significant difference of opinion about teenagers today that comes from teenagers themselves and the adult population. A good majority of the young people today view themselves as relatively responsible people. A lot of them are inquisitive and are eager to learn new things. Many are committed to a drug-free lifestyle, and there are a lot of students who achieve very high grades. Most adults' view on teen behavior is very different
Personal Narrative- Career Goals My parents often remind me of how difficult it is for minorities like us to earn respect from the community and enough money to raise a family. They encourage me to strive for the best by being selfish and competitive against my peers rather than enjoy what I like which is to interact with people. My mother wanted me to become a doctor because it is a well paying job and my father wanted me to become an entrepreneur because I would have been able to gain
Personal Narrative- Bonding Experience with Mom Summer was coming to an end, the night air grew brisker and the mornings were dew covered. The sun had just started to set behind our home; my father would be home soon. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by my mother cooking dinner. She stood there one hand on her hip, her one leg stuck out at her side, knee slightly bent, stirring the pot holding the spoon all the way at the tip of the handle. She looked as pissed off as could be
Personal Narrative- Television Remote Those who are recognized as having authority earn power because of strong leadership skills and the drive to make the world a better place. When people use power to do good deeds they gain respect. A typical leader also holds something in his or her hands, like a staff, that yields power. It is amazing to see people follow an individual who is holding on to something. If they could possess that object then they too could have power. I agree that one must
Personal Narrative- Marriage Proposal There is a knock, quick and steady, upon the hotel room door. Almost 8:30. Breakfast. This is it, I tell myself, as my heart settles in my throat. A young man brings in a silver tray, sets it quietly on the small table in the living room. I look at the tray, disappointed. It doesn’t look how I had imagined it. I expected it to be full of various objects, glasses, silverware, condiments, very elegant, where the ring box would sit hidden, to be discovered
Personal Narrative- Finding Truth in Prayer Glory, God stared me in the face. A man, my savior stood at the curtain. “Are you planning to pray?” he inquired. I blinked twice, “Um... yes?” Praying isn’t my ‘thing,’ but I figured “When in Vatican City...” I stepped past the man and into Enlightenment. Behind the curtain a room heavy with relics awaited. People stood, sat in the corners; heads down and hands clasped the room was immobile. Satan himself could not stir a soul. I took my
Personal Narrative- Staying Young Forever It all begins with the famous phrase, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" As children, we think the words "growing up" mean becoming like mom and dad. It means having a job, being able to cook dinner, and knowing how to pay bills. We are too young to understand the real concept behind those two dreadful words. If only someone had told me the truth, I could have prepared for the shock. I hate growing up, and getting older really stinks! The
Personal Narrative- Knee Injury I was always an active person from being in sports to hanging out with friends. I always had something planned, or came up with something on the fly. My junior year in high school was a very tough time for me. I was involved in a lot of activities, organizations, and clubs. I was very active in one organization where I had to be up at school every morning at 7:15 for that meeting. Meaning I would not leave school sometimes until 6:45 to 7:00 in the evening. On
Personal Narrative- Daydreaming There I sat, trying desperately not to drool in the middle of my daydream. Dare I say class was less than interesting and all I could think of was my bed? Instead of daydreaming of a hunky man, or even a bright future paved with a golden road of success, I was dreaming of my bed. It was an ordinary college dorm room bed: you never know how many people actually slept in it, or did something else in it, yet I still find comfort in its lumps and bumps. In the brilliance