My Own Story-Personal Narrative

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

i am my own i have built myself a one bedroom single bed home in my bones with a garden and white picket fence but if you had sense you’d look close to see the paint curling off the planks so obviously, i’ve never understood why i stain it so religiously when it’ll always be a mess underneath the fake finesse but i digress i keep my lawn manicured snipped short till i bite skin and if you ask nicely step through the land mines you can come in we’ll enter through the attic it’s a topsy turvy cluttered catastrophe while some spiderweb-coated corners and crannies cover the space other parts are pristine sparkling, new, unused but if only i knew what to do with the walls, short sprawling verses envelope them all the heart, i’d say is the living

I heard a crash and a boom downstairs and paused my horror movies I did not think anything about it at first so I went downstairs and when I saw a shadowy figure dart across the kitchen I freaked out and tried to keep myself calm as my heart was racing then I ran upstairs as fast as I could.

My life has never been this way before. Having dreams you wished will never come true. Having thoughts that can't escape your head. Having friends who tell you that’s it's meant to be. Was it meant to be?

My story began like most in America. I was born to very Christian loving parents who were hardworking, family oriented people. My father was a military man, my mother worked odd jobs and was a homemaker. My young life started with turmoil due to my early childhood diagnosis of Dyslexia. I was hyperactive and was required to take medication and attend special education classes. My attitude towards learning was compromised because it was a constant struggle. My parents did all they could to help me along. We were a military family and I spent years overseas while my father served in the United States Army.

When I was younger me and my brother loved playing superhero games with blankets. We would tie them around our waist or neck. I would do both because it made the cape look longer. My brother Kohen would have his on his neck because he would step on his if it was on his waist. So one night we were playing and it was time for Kohen to go to bed. And I didn't want to play by myself, so I went to my room for the night. The thing is that i forgot to take the cape off. When I had my bed on the ground I had to stand on the edge of it to turn off my lights.

My heart was beating so fast. My hands were all sweaty and I couldn’t move. I was about to go on stage with my friends. There was about a million things that was going through my mind. Me and my friends were standing backstage waiting for the people in the back to start the music. The lights were so bright, it was like looking at the sun. The floor was so shiny you could see it glomming. Me and my friends were practicing the dance before we went on, so none of us would mess up. It was my first show and I was really nervous. We were dancing at the biggest college that I have ever seen in my life. I would have been really scared dancing by myself, but since I was with my friends I would be fine. The lights went off. It was so dark I couldn't see a thing. This was about to change everything.

"There was an accident, and umm... Olivia umm.. She was in the accident. She umm... didn’t make it." Jamie nervously said.

Having to talk about myself and tell my story is as nerve wracking as jumping off of a cliff, and I hate heights so that says a lot. I love to listen to people's problems and stories. However, I do not enjoy sharing mine. Explaining to someone why you are the way you are can be an emotional subject and it can also be very intimidating. At least for me it is.

Do you know the year you’d call your darkest time? Mine would be 7th grade year. I’ve was in the middle crowd all my life. Then came 7th grade my best friend of two years; we were impossible to break apart left me for a more popular girl.You guessed it, that popular girl yeah she kept pushing me out of the picture but keeps me in just enough to hurt me. Then I moved on you know found a new best friend.I had known her from a old club I was in but we never really talked. Till she sat with us the first day of 7th grade and said “Dude I know you're funny let’s be friends” and that’s where it all started. Before this year, I thought guys were immature and like all my friends were guys but I was never like boy crazy, but there was a new kid that year, His name was Michael, he was the bad-boy type.

My sister was born February 1, 2005. Although I was young, this is an event I will forever remember. My sister was not due for another five weeks and my mom had already been to the hospital three times with false alarms. My mom was a skinny, 5’4”, blonde haired, green eyed, twenty-six year old woman. Her hair goes down to her mid back, and she has fair skin and freckles. The smell of pickles lingered in our house, as they were her pregnancy food. The morning of February 1, 2005 I remember hearing my mom scream in pain. When my dad asked what happened, she said my sister was coming and it was serious this time. My dad was a skinny but muscular, 6’0”, green eyed, young man. At only 22 years old, he still had the blonde tips spiked up with a gallon of hair gel, tied together with a Puka shell necklace. He spoke with modern slang, and was going through the beginning of his adult life as best he could. There was no way my sister was coming five weeks early he told my mom. With three false alarms it was a very boy who cried wolf moment for him. My mom has always been a persuasive woman and gets her way with ease, so it did not take long before our trip to the hospital began.

Time slowed down and gravity lifted as my car drifted over the thin black sheet of glass. My car didn't stop until it connected with the telephone pole next to the road. The impact threw me into the air bag and broke all of my windows. I must have been in a lot of pain because the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital the next morning, with my right arm and left leg in a cast and a nurse standing over me. She told me that they were unable to find any identification on me so they couldn't call anyone to let them know about the accident. That made sense considering I accidently left my wallet at work, which I was driving home on a back road from when I hit the pole. She brought me a computer and let me borrow her phone to contact those that I needed to.

“Next month we're are going to move to Los Altos and this house will go for rent,” my Dad said five months ago at dinner. I was shocked and quickly answered