Personal Narrative Essay: Bella's Loss Of Identity

I haven’t been able to sleep for the past month. I hear my door creak and I look at the door. I see someone open the door very slowly before coming in. I look to see Maria tiptoeing into my room. “What are you doing?” I ask “You know your mom would kill me if she saw us.”

I thought she would laugh, but she didn’t. We were eating dinner together. My sister and dad were out to a movie. It was quiet, peaceful inside the house. My mother said, “You could be good at that.” When I asked her why she felt that way, she smiled. She said, “I know you’re always telling stories in your head.” She surprised me. I asked her if she thought my sister could be a writer and she said, “Not in the same way.” I wanted her to talk more about who she thought I could be, but my dad and sister came home. My dad was mad that we hadn’t made enough dinner for him, that we hadn’t thought to turn on the porch light, that the pesto had been left on the counter, that he always had to clean up after us.

When we arrived at the house, I stood there for about five seconds before knocking on the door. They didn’t answer at first, so I knocked again, harder, and then saw the handle start to move. My stomach filled with butterflies as I watched the door slowly open. The face that greeted was one of a two year old, and as I looked up I saw her father standing over her.

I woke up and rustled all my things together and jetted down stairs. I see my mom across the room eating her favorite cereal, Lucky Charms. I slugged around the kitchen still half-awake trying to find a bowl, cereal, and milk. Then I heard a whistle and realized she had my breakfast ready on the table. I sat across from her on the table. The scent of perfume hit my nose, it smelled fruity. Her hair was combed back into a sleek bun. She was wearing a formal white shirt and a black skirt and some heels. I slurped the last of the milk as she was almost out the door. I walked outside and ran to the car. I opened the door and got inside. It was 7:59 am.

My mother was out of town, so I knew it was not her. I grew afraid of the strange woman in my house, the maroon-colored walls in my bedroom was giving me an ominous feeling, making my room look stained with blood. I went quietly out of my door and down the hallway, knowing that they were arguing in the kitchen by the volume of their voices. I paused in the middle of the hall, unsure whether to continue or to go back to my bedroom. I only decided on the former after I heard a muffled shout and the woman’s voice laughing. This decision was the biggest mistake of my life.

Every stair that I took I looked over a different page in the book. I wanted to make sure I knew every word so I could read the story that night. Once I got to my room, my mom was waiting patiently beside the bed for me. I looked down at the book in my hands, it was old, barely hanging on by the thread binding from years of use. Then I breathed in deeply and mumbled “Can I read the story tonight?” I was afraid she couldn’t hear me, but she did because with a smile she nodded her head. Filled with excitement I climbed into my spot on the bed and quickly opened the book. My mom sat next to me and held one side of the big book while her other arm was around my shoulder. Then I begun to read “Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,”. My voice squeaked through each page as I tried my best to read the story just as my mom always did. The smooth paper glided under my tiny finger as I traced each sentence to keep my place. The rhythm of my voice was not fluid but

My mother had left my dad’s house slippers by the coat rack behind the door. I was grateful to her as the floor felt like ice. Hanging up my coat, I slipped into my dad’s bathrobe, which was hanging on its peg. We had a fireplace in the living room and the chimney exited the west side of the roof. I smelled the smoke of the dying fire, and I knew my mom was in bed. The bedrooms were located on the second story. Her room was located at the end of the hallway, and my room was at the head of the stairs above the

I’ve always known that i have a big heart… Just the thought of helping people fills my heart with joy, but actually doing the act makes me feel like i am on top of the world….

She’s the most wanted criminal, the one who got away with brutal murder… It started off as a harmless thought and slowly but surely it attacked her body throughout. It shredded through every loving memory and every cheerful thought at the seams; every social outing she was invited to became nothing. She became nothing. She felt like a ghost floating about in the background, and so she stopped. Stopped going out, stopped talking and even wanted to stop existing. Before her unfortunate end, Isabella made sure that she wouldn’t be remembered by anyone. No longer was she the popular girl that everyone admired she was a soulless empty beast that destroyed everything she once had a passion for.

A few months after she quit praying, I saw her mending some old boots, they were tattered and torn, I asked her why she won’t just buy new ones, she said my father made those boots for her before they married each other, he was a cobbler, this was the first time she spoke about him. Later that day, I snuck into his workroom, which was usually locked by a key only mother had, but she put them away at night and I had taken them. The room was dusty and dark, so I took a candle inside, there was a table in the corner with a lantern hanging above, it was covered in tools and old leather and fabric, along with shelves full of old designs and tool manuals. I remembered how my mother talked so fondly of him, but I also remembered how sad she was all of the time, so I took it upon myself to rummage through all of his old schematics and designs and I found one tucked away in a book, it

I live in Oklahoma with my 2 sisters, my brother,mom,and a dog.I am Isabella the loud child they call me. Our Oldest sister has brown eyes and blonde hair and is very active. Are brother is the 2nd oldest he has brown hair and hazel eyes and is very active . The favorite child is other sister has brown hair and blue eyes and is very lazy. Me Isabella has hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair and imma a dancer. Me and my family live in a decent house people even tho im happy with what I got.

Every night, as I sat on the table with my younger brothers assisting them with their homework, I hear a familiar sound at the door. As she walks her heels click, and I can hear her searching her bag for her keys, the next thing I know the keys are in the lock and as it turns me and my younger brothers’ jump. We run to the door and indeed we scream in unison “Mommy’s home”, one by one she gives us a hug and a kiss. My mother asks us how our day was, and if we finished our homework, she then looks to me and said “did you cook and assist your younger ones with their homework”; I replied “yes mom”. As I warm the food, I take my mother’s purse, jacket, and shoes put them away and prepare the table for her to eat dinner. As I glance at the

“Shhh!” said Sydney, “Our doll are having a tea party and they asked us to be quiet.” I looked away disappointed. A few moments later we heard my Dad ask us come downstairs because he had a surprise for us. We loved surprises! We dashed downstairs and followed his voice into the living room. My mom was hold a little something in her lap swaddled in a blanket. I ran up to her desperate to see what she was holding. I peaked inside the blankets and found two big, round eyes staring back up at me. I had never seen something this amazing.

I had a dream, a dream where I got up early in the morning on a bed with a mattress and four legs. My momma kissed my forehead and told me to be downstairs for breakfast. I headed to the toilet to brush my teeth with an object which was surprisingly not my finger. I put on my blue pants, in tucked my white shirt, and pulled up my socks to my shin. I ran downstairs and ate a bowl of cereal with milk. A bright yellow bus arrived in front of our house, and the conductor rang our doorbell to take me to school. My momma firmly grabbed hold of me and placed me in front of her. She stood on her knees and tied my shoelaces. She grasped my right hand, put a ten dollar note on it and whispered “Don’t spend all of it”. She then gave my hand along with a Mickey Mouse bag to the conductor, who led me to the bus. Along the path, I jumped into a puddle of water, dirtying both my and the conductor’s shoes. I looked back, and saw my momma grinning. A week ago, I was terrified to leave my parents. Then, my parents had me draw a picture of them when bright, new color pencils. They told me that they were in the picture and as long as I had it, I would always feel their presence. I wasn’t scared anymore. I had my parents in my pocket. The ride to school was exciting and eventful. I was the kind of kid who loved to be around others and make new friends. A timid, bashful looking girl named Julie, who was a grade above me, sat next to me through the trip. While all the other kids cried, our

As I lay in bed, I look up at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling above me and try to tune my ears to the loud conversation my parents are having downstairs. I sneak out of bed, tiptoeing barefoot across the cold wooden floor, and quietly drift down the stairs until I get to the last one. I don’t want to get caught eavesdropping, but I have to hear what on earth it is that they’re yelling about. As soon as I begin to strain my ears to hear their words, they become a whisper and my mom sticks her head around the corner and sees my little body sitting on the last stair, with my knees pulled to my chest, innocent big brown eyes glistening.