A Short Story Of The Hero's Journey-Personal Narrative

“Small town big heart,” they say locked away behind their cold immaculate castle gates that rest on the remains of the previous farmland and plains. The collective heart beats but only at a convenient time suiting parties involved. “A place where everyone matters,” they utter as their motto in indistinguishable monotone voices. The people are too wrapped up in their everyday lives to ever be concerned about their neighbor, they look through life with gilded glasses. It’s as if a fog had descended slowly creeping into their view distorting what they once held most dear.

“How much farther?” Tom shouted impatiently as he folded his arms and sank back into his seat.

As I was hunting through the mystical forest Herot looking for the meal of the night.I was to return to the cave by 9 o’clock to tuck in my precious son to bed.He had a fever that kept on going up and down,and the only thing thing that could help him was a small monster in the forest.I felt this sudden pain in my chest.I ignored the feeling thinking it was just a normal heart burn.I killed the little monster and brought it back home expecting Grendel to be in bed sleeping.I flew into the cave and called out to him.

Palmiro and his sleeping son Josh are on a plane near South America when his pilot died. He started making weird noises over the intercom. Josh was curious what was going on so he asked his dad. His dad, Palmiro, said everything was going to be ok. All of a sudden they hear the wind whistling against the sharp edges of the plane. They both looked out the window and saw the ground getting closer and closer. The plane started to plummet to the ground. Josh started freaking out and had no idea what to do. He saw only one parachute and an emergency door. Palmiro told his son to quickly grab the parachute. They both strapped in together and jumped out. The plane crashed on an island, no one knows where.

“Run!” the little boy cried. The roman soldiers came attacking at village and killing 2 dozen men and women. The little boy was named Damon. His father is a god, his name was Mercury, the god of speed. Damon was just a demigod.

I never thought mondy would come around more slowly. I woke up at 5:30 in the mourning took a shower got dressed and walked down stairs to see that mom and dad were already up and in their leader uniforms and mom had made eggs, bacon and toast.

Three grueling days of marching. until we arrived at a small village. To the center plaza we marched, many of the frightened and confused villagers had gathered there. The legate leading the legion began reading a memoir written by a team of scouts on the horrid atrocities the Hunnic hordes have committed. We needed their support in the fight so they would agree to supply us with the provisions that had been rapidly depleting. Just before he had finished a scout rode into the plaza bloodied and battered he warned us of the Huns and there overwhelmingly large force before finally dying of his injuries. The villagers began to panic and some fled with their belongings. The Legate tried to comfort them telling them we can ensure their safety. We fortified the town built an castra. It was all we could do. Later that evening after I took a small excursion I could see the torches and the yurts atop the craggy mountain. It also became apparent that the terrain advantage they had could not be overcome by our inferior numbers. Evan so the legate informed us we would begin marching on the hill the next morning. I couldn't sleep knowing that death awaited us the at dawn. I went to the mess hall for a hiatus. While there a centurion asked me to take his shift at night watch. I humbly complied.

You would never have seen it had you not know where to look.After he left Salt caverns he was leaving and on the trail there were no signs to know where to go.Then he realized it was getting a little dark and he would have to wait until the morning. The next morning,the sun was up and he got all of his stuff and began on the trails and then he was recognizing the trees or the marks. He stopped for a second to retrace his steps. Bahauddin doesn't know where he is and tries to find his way but cant remember where he went before he fell asleep.There is no one around for him to ask so he could at least know where he is.He first goes by the side where there are not as many trees and sees smoke as if someone had just burned out there fire from

It was truly a wonderful feeling to have the sun on my back and the wind through my knees. Modesty aside, I could run quite fast for a boy my age. Up and down pastoral yellow hummocks; they were to a field what waves are to an ocean overwrought by an impassioned tempest, and I was a vessel rising and falling at the mercy of its ardent ascendency.

My mind raced like the race car, my heart beats as the hooves of a horse on a racetrack, and my thick eyelashes holding up the tears that were going to fall. As I locked eyes with the Monster, I knew that I wasn’t safe. The angry blue eyes like the ocean waves were locked in with my helpless black ones. This time, the ocean waves were set to destroy a ship. This time, that helpless ship was me.

He was a talented rock singer and he talked to audience face-to-face which invoked audience to engage in the conversation and knew him more. Furthermore, the audience will hurl with hand-clapped in between of every song that made the entire atmosphere filled with excitement and happiness. The audience paid respect to Steven Wilson by following Steven Wilson to sing the lyrics and they knocked their heads which made the concert so fulfilling. The audience also shouted out loud to show their supports to the singer and they tried to move to the very front in order to establish a close and intimate distance with the singer. There was a television screen on the stage behind the musical instruments which is associated with the ‘authenticity’ because it showed the musical video on the screen that invoked people to focus on both musician and the screen at the same time.

“Colleen,” she spun to see Max walking quickly down the hall toward her. It was interesting to see that everyone almost instinctively got out of his way, even if they weren’t looking at him.

I took in deep breaths as time raced closer. No matter how many times I set foot on a stage ready to put perform, I could never get used to it. The familiar rush, the nervous tickles, the cloud of butterflies taking up more space in more stomach than food. I was ecstatic, yet I was worried. The music business was not easy.

A beam of early morning sunlight played on his face. He turned and scooted to another part of the bed in order to avoid waking. Within a few minutes the beam of sunlight had caught up with him again and was shining again directly on his eyelids. He lay there, his head in a fog, rubbed his eyes and stared at the white plastered walls trying to determine where he was and even who he was. The brightness of the room overwhelmed him with a fierce intensity. It was a few minutes before his eyes became accustomed to the light. He entertained his semi-waking mind by tracing patterns of the earthy colors on the tapestry that hung on the wall facing him. He rubbed his hands slowly on the bedsheet, felt a smoothness and said to himself, "This

Because the "Made in Germany 1995-2011" tour represented the culmination of the band's career, most of the audience members could sing along with every single song. Even though I did not know the words, I was carried away by the enthusiasm of the crowd, plus the energy that the bend itself exuded from the stage. A band called the Deathstars opened the concert. Our seats were far away from the stage, in the first balcony rows. At first I thought this would be terrible viewing, but it turned out to be a good place to sit because we could see everything including the way the audience in the pit behaved.