Personal Narrative : Personal Experience

Put the gun down! Put the gun down! Pow Pow Pow. The gun shots cracked into the air as loud as thunder. One after another. We live day by day not knowing our end. In the blink of an eye our lives can be changed forever. Its life, yet even in knowing this we never expect tragedy to find us. We never expect it to affect our lives and the people we know and love. I’m going to share with you the day tragedy found my life.

One of the obstacles I had to face in my life was when my best friend since kindergarten committed suicide. It was a chilly Sunday in December when I got a text message from an unknown number and I was going to erase the message until I saw the words “Dorian committed suicide”. Turns out that his twin sister, Vanessa, had gotten my number from his phone and texted me telling me the news. The moment I read those 3 words I could feel my heart break into a million pieces. And a ton of guilt flooded my body. He had tried multiple times but I always talked him out of it without anyone's help and without any adult knowing but this time I guess he didn't want help and so he went through with it. That day I stayed in bed all day crying my eyes out,

    It was six A.M. on a beautiful yet brisk Saturday morning and I was fast asleep. Suddenly I was ripped from my blissful dream world by the incessant blaring of my alarm. Groggy, I shut off the alarm and stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast. I had a light breakfast consisting of warm cinnamon toast and butter so as to not upset my stomach during the looming Cross Country race.

In late September of 2010, was the year I learned a new word “Depression”! I was in 1st grade and everything was fun because I had no responsibilities or worries. I didn’t know how to feel grief for a long time because I was always happy. I didn’t know that a family member could own a child.

It seemed as if we had only been at school for about an hour before it was time for

I am not one to pick up hitchhikers, it’s just not safe, everyone knows that but for some

I was designated out of necessity. My older brother was sent to prison the year before she was diagnosed. My twin sister was married at the time with three small children and my younger brother was only 16 years old. Therefore, I tried to become everything that she needed. Helping her through her battle would prove to me that life is too short to not pursue my dreams.

I am a rather complex individual, but one quality that stands out about me is that I am very passionate. While I am passionate about many subjects, I have great passionate for a select few. First, I am very passionate about entertainment. For as long as I can remember I have always adored television shows, movies, and books. As soon as school let out I would rush home to watch Thundercats with my oldest brother, Mark. During my school vacation, I would spend my time reading. Therefore, my mother said it was hard to keep up with purchasing books for me to read. When my family went to the mall they knew I could always be found in the book store. Finally, I am passionate about Comic Conventions. My oldest brother introduced me to a convention

I stare at the TV with incomplete fascination, my pencil tightly gripped in between my fingers.

As I approached the door, the loud sound of tears from behind the door grew onto me. I tried to reach for the door, but hesitance and uncertainty began to run through my body. For a moment, I stopped and took a deep breath that echoed into the dark, silent hall to prepare myself for what may lay behind the door. I waited. I slowly turned the knob and the door was now free. There lay my mother with her eyes slammed shut and the innocent, pure smirk that had always rested across her face before she passed away. A year later, I heard my name being screeched through the walls of my bedroom. My heart sank a million miles into my stomach, and I tried to pretend I didn’t hear my name being called. A few seconds later, my name was being squealed again

It was cold on the night of November 14th. My friend, her boyfriend and I were walking to Walmart, planning on getting cake ingredients for my friend’s grandmother’s birthday. On our way there my surroundings seemed rather quiet for it being Angola. I felt like something was wrong like something had happened. But I continued to toss the feeling aside and just walked the path that leads to the parking lot. I couldn’t help but look in between the trees that held pitch black darkness. I was worried that was where troubles may lie, I was wrong. My real problem all started with a simple phone call.

I was only thirteen when I first began to ask “who am i?” My parents would tell me stories of where I’m from, and how Sudan is like. My little brain couldn’t grasp the idea of having family, people that look like me, in the other side of the world. Going there was a dream for me, I had this vision in my head, this adventure I thought waiting for me, and so, I began to nag! “Can we go this summer daddy?” became one of my favorite things to say. I asked and asked, until I got what I wanted.

Whenever I fight, except with the girl at the school, there seem to be a part of me that is turned off. Everything around me disappears and the only thing that matters is the person in front of me. I’m not angry with them, I don’t want to hurt them, I just don’t want them standing in front of me anymore. The bell rang and he got to swing at me once before I ducked under his straight right and hit him with a right hook. As he turned, next came the left cross followed by a straight right and he was out.

My eyes shoot open, blood rushes through my veins, a harsh ring pierces my ears, adrenaline jumpstarts my nervous system. Catapulting out of bed, feet crash onto the wood floor with a resounding thud, vibrations shoot up my legs. Intent on murdering my morning nemesis, I take aim at the blaring red-eyed demon sitting next to the fan. Striking with a swift click of the on/off switch, I end the incessant blare of my alarm. "6:15, Monday, not late." A relieved sigh escapes my lips, gaze shifting to my dresser. My anxiety calms quickly, and I notice the cold wooden floor nips at my toes.

“Rima, honey, hurry up or you'll be late for school." my father called down the stairs, trying to make it seem like he still cares.