Personal Narrative: An Incident In Pensacola Downtown
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Every night, 365 days a year the sun sets in Key West is a part of someone’s night. The light goes out, but the city is still awake. Everywhere in Key West there is either food, art, or someone showing off a cool talent. The hot humid days turn into cool humid nights. The stars and moon come out and dance to the music.
Personal Narrative: Growing Up In Southwest Atlanta
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Growing up in southwest Atlanta, Georgia, I have been surrounded by ‘black success’ instead of just ‘success’ for the duration of my life. The blacks in my area are equally as successful, if not more accomplished than, the non-blacks, but we are always titled separately and put into a captive box. The box we are held in told young girls that they should aspire to be athletes, cosmetologists, or plain unemployed. The same box told young men that they could only be considered “somebody” if they were able to catch a ball well. These are occupations we would ‘best be suited for’; these are occupations that perpetuate the box.
Personal Narrative: When I Went To Florida
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When I Went To Florida I went to Florida after 4th grade in the summer. When we went to Florida, Jaxon my sisters, brother came with us. The night before we left he stayed at my house. When we left the next morning we left at 3:00 A.M. While we were on our way we both had to sit in the very back of the car because my sisters came with us. The ride there was not fun at all.
Personal Narrative: Surviving Laredo
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I would do anything, in order to survive. There would be no limit to what I would do to survive. I have always been known as the survivor. Lets just say I was all alone, no one, no one else in Laredo. There are no power lines that are working.
Personal Narrative: Return To New Orleans
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I was born in New Orleans, but raised in Brooklyn. For several reasons my parents decided to leave NOLA shorty after my birth. From then on, I was raised in New York state; more specifically Brooklyn. It wasn't until the age of sixteen that I finally returned to my home city. My parents had just divorced and for that reason, my mother no longer wished to stay in New York.
Personal Narrative: South Florida
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Time. 10:19 p.m. South Florida. The traffic light rests at red for an eternity, mocking me with its condescending gaze. I quickly turned my head both directions, not a car in sight for what it seemed to be miles.
Personal Narrative: Tallahassee Florida
952 Words | 4 Pages
When I was a child the world never seemed to stretch beyond my home town Tallahassee Florida. Through my young eyes it was so massive and expansive that I couldn’t fathom the concept of their possibly being areas existing outside of it. Out of all of the areas of Tallahassee I was familiar with, I was familiar with my neighborhood the most. I lived in a reddish-brown brick house that had a dark Oakwood colored roof on it. Up until the mid-2000’s the house was very dark to the presence of dark colored paint on the house and was often covered by spiders.
New Orleans-Personal Narrative
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A thrill for the speed From the time auto mobiles were created, someone has had the idea to race them. Some people race illegally and some race on a regulated track. A new track has brought itself to light in New Orleans. Not very popular with common conversation but to a “gear head” like my step farther. My step father, Mr. Russ, came across this track shortly after it was finished being built.
Personal Narrative: My Life In New Orleans
763 Words | 4 Pages
The city is known for its culture, creativity, great food, and our different music. New Orleans has always been home for me until, the unthinkable happened. No, our city isn’t always filled with tons of fun. We have suffered a dramatic change over a decade ago. Although it was so long ago, our city still isn’t the same as it was before.
Personal Narrative: My Interview With A Maine State Police Officer
603 Words | 3 Pages
I decided to interview my mom, who works at the Maine State Police Academy. I thought it would be interesting to learn a little bit more about, since one day I will have to go through it. Her job is secretary at the academy. She does many different things, which can range from making prints, to planning graduation.
Personal Narrative: My Life On Galveston Island
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It was a windy Saturday evening, and the sun was close to setting. My family and I had been on Galveston Island for about 20 minutes. When we made it to the hotel, we told that is would be another 45 minutes until our room was ready. Because of this we took a walk on a pier that was across the street. The pier extended out over the water and ended with a spot for fishing.
Personal Narrative: My Journey To Asheville
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I'm exploring various areas for retirement, which presently includes Raleigh/Durham, and possibly Asheville, for visits up to six months of the year. Hopefully, I will be lucky to meet acquaintances who are similar in age who are willing to connect without the need for a rushed relationship. I would like to settle down but I am realistic and will admit that I am careful. I am hopeful for a mature commitment in the future. An important aspect is flexibility as my lifestyle involves travel, which is unavoidable.
Personal Narrative: The Perry Neighborhood
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As a young girl, around the age of 10 I lived in the Perry projects with my mother. Previously to moving there I would visit often to see my great-grandmother. When I would visit my grandmother there were not many other people that were African-American. The Commodore Perry Projects had been actually made for white people.
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On August 29, 2005, a category five hurricane, named Hurricane Katrina struck the city of New Orleans and destroyed everything in its path. As all the other residents of New Orleans, I was one of the people who experienced this horrible disaster. No one ever predicts that this kind of thing will ever happen to them. Everyone has their story about what happened to them during Hurricane Katrina, but I am going to tell you about my experience and how to affected my life.
Personal Narrative: The Alcoholic Mother
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As lifeless as she looked, her eyes were open. Smothered underwater in a baby pool on the back porch, I ran to her aid thinking she was no longer alive. Fortunately, she was still breathing and I cautiously dragged her out of the water. Tears streamed down my face as I shook her limp body in an attempt to bring her to consciousness. As a fourth grader, this was a horrendous experience, however, several other of my mother’s drunken episodes were just as terrifying.
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