Miss White's House-Personal Narrative

On Monday 6/29/2015 Sgt. Alexander and I was dispatched to the Hostess House located at 6741 Highway 70 in reference to 2 subject, Mr. Burnette and Mr. Jacobs that were renting room 251 and had outstanding warrants.

Although they do not have much money, the mother never allows herself to forget the high status of her old relatives: ‘“Your great-grandfather was a former governor of this state . . . Your grandfather was a prosperous landowner. Your grandmother was a Godhigh.”’ Her family’s home, which was once a symbol of their prosperity, now had “worn rugs and faded draperies.” The home’s decrepit condition is comparable to the state that her family’s high stature is now in. In essence, the home as well as the old life which she is clinging to is now gone, and what is left is rotted stairways and “Negroes living in [the house].”

Have you been looking for a new house that will make you feel the worst you’ve ever felt before. You’re in for a treat if you stay at 647 Blood Ave.. As you wander around the house there is torn down walls and broken windows. As you sleep through the night wind washes upon your body and chills rush through from head to toe. Vines crawl and wrap around the house even broken windows and torn down walls are covered. It holds the house tightly, do not cut a vine, or it’ll be like you just disappeared . Interested yet?..., I’ll tell you there’s more to come. As you follow your way to the back there is an old abandoned barn. There use to be cows and chickens that would run the grounds of 647 Blood Ave. Now there dismembered corpse are what scatters

The poetry of Cathy Song is a flowing collection of soft spoken and colorful imagery. She gently weaves her thoughts into an imaginative yet graceful story that has an overall sensual tone to it. Cathy invites the reader into her personal sanctuary of memories. She allows the reader to share in some of her most personal and critical moments in life. Some may think these things mundane but, when reading her poetry you can feel how utterly important they are to her. This can be evidenced in her poem The White Porch. Cathy uses this poem to allow the reader to participate in that moment of a woman’s life when she realizes that she is no longer a child.

The foreshadowing approach adds layers that elevate the story from a simple tale of a woman going mad to one that offers viable societal commentary on gender roles at the time. The narrator's new living space is described as a "colonial mansion" and a "haunted house," situated alone, standing three miles from the village. The deserted estate, neglected for many years, projects an eerie feeling of uncertainty, which is only amplified by the narrator's pre-existing nervous condition. Although the house appears beautiful, the narrator's instinctual distrust suggests that the new space will worsen her condition rather than improve it. The atmosphere of the setting coupled with her pre-existing condition is enough to cause tension.

Hey, guess who called me today?” Anna expressed vaguely before taking a bite of her salmon again.

I didn't always live in California. Before California I lived in Denver, Colorado. Before Denver I lived in Aurora, Colorado. When we moved to california we had a family of five. We moved to California, when I was six, Then we lived at my grandma’s house in Riverside for a year. We found a place on Ferree Street and that became our home.

Whitney White was a beautiful woman, only 30 years old, but she had received something she didn’t expect, a daughter. She now had to take care of the child all on her own, since the father had left her, but on July 6th, in the year of 1962, she decided all of that was going to change.

Today was a very eventful day, for it is Easter and our wonderful community had put together this

As I sat in my fourth grade English class listening to my teacher tell me "you have a book report due in just two short weeks" and I thought to myself how am I ever going to do this? I have never been a good writer and I have no idea where to begin explaining the book "Little House on The Praire" and presenting it in front of the class without being embaressed as all get out.The day went on as I thought about it more and more the bell rang. I ran out to my mom's car and stated "Mom I have a book report due in just two short weeks and I cant do it. She said "why not honey" I said " Im just not s good enough writer" She said " yes you are and yes you can and you will do a fantastic job at it. That is when I realized I am a writer.

Go! We tear through the red starting line into the light rain. Then around the corner back into the seventh and eighth grade wing of the building. First stop: Mrs. Kuehlke’s room. In her room we got partners and mouthed directions to each other. It wasn’t too difficult, but it was very eye-opening to how difficult it is to communicate while having a speaking disability. Afterwords we went to Mrs. Tyvoll’s room. In her room we had to dress and undress ourselves with only one hand. I wasn’t very quick but I was very successful. On too our third and final stop: Mrs. Flim’s room. This activity was easily the hardest. There were two messages on the board and we had to write them with our non-dominant hand and then our mouth. It was the hardest because

If you’ve never met Samantha, then you’re missing out. Some things she enjoys to do include: going to church, sleeping, running, and watching old movies. She has gone garage saling with her mom every weekend since elementary school. Samantha has 3 older siblings, and she loves spending time with her family. She’s well rounded when it comes to school; in fact, her favorite classes are World History and Anatomy. Samantha hopes to possibly go into the medical field when she’s older, she was inspired by the television series Grey’s Anatomy. Although her birthday is in May, her favorite time of the year is winter. Samantha hopes to live anywhere but Oklahoma when she’s older, but she would prefer if it were in a city. Her ideal trip would be all

It was six o’clock in the evening when President James was sitting in the Oval office playing a game of chess with his eleven-year-old daughter Sophia. They both were enjoying the company of one another. It was a rare occasion when the president had time to allocate to his only daughter. Even though Sophia knew her father was letting her win, they both were playing well. Little did they know this happiness would soon change.

I walked into the plain, white room, and although I was with six other people I had never felt more alone than at that moment. I didn’t belong in a place like that, and I felt how out of place I was. There were two colored benches, against two of the walls in the room. The man whom had led us into the treacherous place demanded that we sat and waited for further instructions. On the bench, to the left, all seven of us had taken a seat and, without speaking a word to one another, we waited. I remember thinking to myself, “I’m not like these people, I’m 19 years old. What in the hell am I doing in this godforsaken hellhole?”

All I can see are flames. There are flames everywhere. All I wanted was to stay warm. It was cold so my friends and I started this fire. It got so out of control. What will people think if they see me? I have to get out of this forest!