A lot has happened since someone- Bronte I think- said we should write everything down. Recording what’s happened, what we’ve done its sort of our way of proving we matter, that we might make a difference somehow. I don’t know if it’s just me but the inky words on paper, it helps. Helps to get the tangled mess out of my head and heart. It’s supposed to be our record, our history but it’s become more than that, it’s a way we might be remembered. Our chance to be more than charred ashes or a pile of brittle bones, that someone will appreciate the risks we’ve taken to get here.
It seems like only yesterday we needed a lollipop lady to even cross the road. Our biggest worries were subject selection and getting a job. Well all those dreams have
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I know it’s called being a teenager, but its only got worse since this war started and I can’t tell you how its been since I’ve started writing this. Before everyone was so eager for me to write, to leave our mark, our record, our story. We were so keen to get it all down. Now I don’t think they care one way or another. There’s no holding back, I warned them I wouldn’t. They said that was ok but that was before they read it. They’ve barely spoken to me since. I didn’t think I’d written anything bad. That’s not the way they saw it. The truth hurts sometimes I guess. I’ve been awfully wrong about this group. I still haven’t figured them …show more content…
We call it right most of the time, well at least more often than we call it wrong but that isn’t enough. Mistakes are so costly, too terrible. Ninety-nine percent isn’t enough, not in the game of war. Not when you think what that one percent could hold, that it could represent a human life.
You can’t escape the sound of a helicopter at night. Your ears rattle and the noise fills the whole sky. Hands clasp over your ears but it doesn’t matter, nothing can keep out the racket. All sounds are louder at night and even louder when you’re scared. The sound clings to you, chasing, stretching right to your dreams. There’s no escaping now.
I know sometimes we seem to be in a mess, like we’re out of our league and I suppose we are. We’ve just got to remember how far we’ve come and we haven’t done all that badly. We’ve knocked around a bunch of soldiers, got Ruby out with bullet wounds, and you can’t forget our stunt at the airport. For amateurs, that’s got to be worth something.
It’s all in your head, I’ve only just started to realise. Being brave is a choice, it’s a way of thinking, and you can’t learn or inherit it. Simply it’s a decision we are all forced to make and I know I’ve made
Hey, it's me as usual. You’re never going to read this but I just need to get some things that have been on my mind out. Lately I find myself listening to X‘s album 17, and it makes me think about so much stuff that I had put aside and hidden somewhere in my head during the beginning of summer. some which I can't even fathom the words to explain. what makes letting go of things so hard is that I promised myself that I would never abandon anyone or let go of the things I care the most about. I never wanted to turn out like my birth mom, I didn't want to be able to forget about someone as easily as she forget about me or even when she forgot about me in the hospital the day I was born to go buy drugs because she cared about that more than her own child. I've always promised myself that I will be the person she was never able to be, that's what makes it impossible to just leave when someone just gives up on me. I've figured out why I'm the way I am, everyone says I have bad taste in guys but they couldn't be more wrong. I've never admitted liking someone till
My name was announced over the loud speaker “Gary Winthrop now up to bat.” I stepped into the box and took a practice swing. I starred the pitcher right in the eyes tempting him to throw me the ball. He wound up and threw me a slow curve ball that felt like it was hanging in the air forever. I took one step and took a smooth swing. The ball popped off my bat like a rocket and flew over the fence to score the winning run. All 50,000 fans in the stands went crazy. I heard my alarm clock go off, dang it was just a dream. I really didn't feel like going to school.
As a whole, I think my memoir is very truthful. Even though it happened almost a decade ago, I remember it very well because it was a turning point in my life. Everything as I knew it was going to change in an instant; my parents are separated, I’d only see my dad every other week, I’d have two of everything (birthdays, Christmas, etc), and other mental and emotional changes. From beginning to end, my memory is spot-on with this scenario. I wouldn’t have any reason to change it or believe it differently. It made me who I am today. I wouldn’t say I was exaggerating either. I definitely took this better than my brothers did and I have the strongest relationship with my father between my brothers and I. I wrote in first person because I feel like writing in third person doesn’t have the
Of the memoirs in the packet, number I was my favorite and the one that stuck the most in my head. Now it may have just stayed in my head because it was the first, but I still believe that it was the most exciting one in the packet. I really like stories that start out like any other day, like it could for anyone, but then it changes drastically and all of a sudden your heart is beating fast and you feeling the adrenaline as if the events of the story are happening to you and not the character. I can somehow relate to the author at the end of the memoir because I too wonder if I could handle myself in a dangerous situation. I would like to think that I could but the occasion has never arose where I could prove myself. It was amazing how the
Jason stared up at Tyler's eyes; deranged, dilated, discolored. Tyler wore a smile on his face, his usual smirk twice as wide and displaying too many teeth. He held a silver and black pistol in his hand.
In life do we see that everyone else is wrong or do we not want to admit that we are wrong? In my eyes I don't want to admit that I am wrong because I don't want to seem stupid. I ran into a situation last night during soccer practice that I want to understand where the other people are coming from. In this situation people are saying that a group of us Seniors on the soccer team are favorites and in my eyes I don't see that at all.
was driving home from physical therapy for my knee. It had been aching for the past few days. I had never felt a pain like it before, so I played it off as nothing. As soon as I hit the highway, I went underneath the Lowry Hill tunnel. I lost reception on my radio and I soon realized that it wasn’t just the tunnel that was making me lose my reception. A massive storm had loomed over my head. The sky was green and looked like it was turning sideways. Rain splattered against my windshield. Not just droplets of rain, but the ones that look like they had been shot out of a paintball gun. I immediately felt the wind blow my car to the right. I had to swerve hard to the left to avoid clipping a jeep that was next to me. Boy, were they in trouble. The jeep had it’s
I just want to start this off with saying I'm sorry for arguing and the attitude issues. Lastnight's not how I wanted to spend it. I didn't get a hug or a kiss, all I got was how did you do tonight as if money was the only thing you seemed to care about. Then you tell me to either get out of the car or go home and I said give me a minute because I was on my feet all night at work. And I didn't wanna,stand around the outside of the gas station. People always say never stop fighting for the person you want once you finally get them. And I feel like you don't want to fight for me because you have me now. You know you always tell me that you want the rayann that I was in st. Pete to come back it's hard for her to come back when the last couple of days/week we've done nothing but argue.
I’ve always thought of myself as a decent writer until I got prompts like this. I usually do well on writing assignments when I’m tasked to analyze two varying texts or record the development of some fictional character, but when it came to analyzing my life I’ve always had a difficult time. It's like everything becomes cluttered in my mind and I feel that I have so much that I need to say, yet so much that I shouldn’t. I remember just last year we had a memoir project with a rubric that stated that "the goal of a memoir is to describe the subject’s personal experiences, not to make the reader feel bad for the subject". I found that project especially difficult due to me always thinking that some of the best memoirs had to invoke some powerful
“What would you say if I asked to go away, just like we did after we met the hunters?” I brought up.
A typical day in a life of a missionary. I am awaken by the sound of
They say to take the pitch if it’s coming after you. They say it will only hurt for a minute. They say to get on base however you can. They say it will help you succeed.
Day thirty-five. You’re looking at Connor with the biggest smile, a hand on his arm, right after pressing a kiss to his cheek. He has to do a quick self check to make sure everything is working because he cannot think. Words fail to form, he is sure all his processors are failing, so he checks again,
Healthy food had always been a part of my life that I was interested in but it was not until I walked into Happy and Hale that I realized the impact it would make. It was a normal weekend getting food on Ninth Street with my friends when I was standing on the sidewalk and looked across the street. I saw something I had never seen before which sparked my interest since I thought I knew Ninth Street like the back of my own hand. Looking up at a substantial sign that read “Happy + Hale” I felt the need to know more. My friends and I started walking towards the building which had wide open accordion doors that welcomed us in. We were welcomed by many friendly faces, one of them being the co-owner, Matt. “Hey, y’all! How are
Screech! The blackened rubber tires of the ebony black car desperately try to stop the car from hitting the snow-white sedan, but it’s too late. The dark black car crashes into the sedan, immediately injuring the family inside. A young blonde teen is sprawled out on the snow-ridden road, eagle-spread. Crimson blood starts to ooze out from her body and her head turns slowly to see her family. Her dead parents are inside the car and shards of broken glass piercing their bodies. Drops of blood drips like a leaky faucet onto the pure white snow. An iridescent tear slowly falls from the teen’s emerald green eyes as she realizes that she has lost her entire family.