Personal Narrative The blaring ring of the alarm clock runs through my ears‚ marking the end of my pleasant six-hour sleep. I’m looking at the time and fumbling my hand next to me‚ managing to hit the snooze button and relapse back to my sleep. Repeating this several times‚ I eventually decided to get up‚ and turned off the alarm. I grabbed the towel lying on top of my chair‚ and turn around only to sneak a glance at the time. I stumble through the bathroom‚ flick the light switch brace
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Miranda English 1‚ Per. 3 Mrs. McCue Personal Narrative “The happiest place on Earth‚” the loud speaker announced‚ as we walked into the gates of Disneyland. My best friend‚ Megan and I‚ were going to Disneyland for the very first time all by ourselves. Our moms’ were going to be hanging out at the hotel across the street‚ downtown Disney‚ etc and wanted us to check in with them by text message every hour. “Look at all these hot guys‚” Megan whispered into my ear. “You’re
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Literacy Narrative – Fahrenheit 451 A moment when I as a writer felt an influence towards my ability to be literate was in my tenth grade English class‚ reading the novel Fahrenheit 451. Never before had I shown such appreciation and willingness to understand for a school assigned book‚ in truth my interest with school readings had been deteriorating due to the consistency of papers and assignments.. For years any school readings were easy to understand and majority held interesting tales‚ yet
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Shameeka Herring 10 February 2013 Personal Narrative Essay A Frightening Experience When I look at pictures of myself ‚ I realize how much I’ve grown and changed‚ not only physically‚ also mentally as a person in the last fifteen years. Less then one year after graduating high school ‚I received some frightening news‚ I was pregnant. I had dreams and so much potential‚ this would surely detour me from my goal in life of
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Personal Narrative Yet another Thanksgiving‚ and I was stuck in my uncle’s basement watching the Redskins face off the Dallas Cowboys. Michael Jordan‚ Serena Williams‚ and various other famous athletes all grinned at me from their respective Wheaties boxes‚ seemingly mocking my pain. My uncle collected them and‚ for some reason‚ had decided the bright orange boxes would be a great decorative addition to the basement wall behind the television. I remember once‚ when I was younger‚ I was searching
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After a long day of receiving memories‚ Malary had to receive one more. “Will it be painful?” she asked. “I don’t like ending the day with painful memories”. “It’s difficult to explain. It’ll be painful at the moment‚ but not like a broken leg‚” The Giver tried to explain. “It won’t physically hurt and it won’t hurt for long. It’ll hurt at the moment‚ but after that it will become a happy memory.” Malary tried to understand what he had said. How could a memory hurt but make you happy? The Giver saw
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time soon. Helen has lived in Kamloops pretty well all her life; she has no immediate family members nearby to ask for help. Her home town is on the out skirts of Kamloops Shuswap reserve which she does not visit all that often because of the bad memories from her childhood. Helens parents’ are still alive and are both residential school survivors. Helen has never had good relationship with either her parents because of the childhood trauma that she and her siblings suffered from their parents. Helen
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Personal Narrative I was the second and final child born into the family before my parents got divorced when I was five. As the baby I wish I could say that I was treated that way‚ but I was not. I was the girl that reminded my father of my mother and was frequently ignored‚ while my brother was the pride and joy and could do no wrong. This being said it played a big part in my neuroticism personality trait as a young child. I was very quiet and withdrawn from my family and considered a loner. In
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Always drawing others in‚ her coffee stained breath spoke of her devotion to us‚ to anyone who would listen. Her persistence informed the way she loved us. “I can’t believe you’re Leona’s granddaughter” the woman’s voice interrupted my trip to the memory of my grandma. “I can’t believe you know Leona‚” I responded. “Everyone does‚” he says. She was everyone’s favorite resident‚ and it shows. Do you remember Cordy?” she asked. Of course‚ I remember Cordy. A young 101 year old when I met her‚ my grandma
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Hey‚ Mom! I love it! I bet you can’t catch me! Wait‚ wait‚ stop. You’re catching up with me! Mom. I pressed pause to pause. Laying in my bed‚ tears started streaming down my face. The constant surge of emotions coursing through my body. My nose turned bright red‚ sebum overflowing my pores. That’s when my mucus started to run marathons‚ my breath acting as if I ran one. I looked up at my hands‚ and there they were‚ trembling. I started scrolling through my TikTok‚ acting as if nothing had affected
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