Personal Narrative: Howling Off Wolves
The clock keeps ticking, and the house continues to move through its normal routines. Each hour that passes is just a painful reminder that the family is gone. They will never enjoy another day in their house. The nursery walls “took shape: yellow giraffes,... [and] lilac panthers” and they made noises (2).
Light lavished the Grotto, layer upon layer, born from upheaval. It seemed as though the past had been scraped clean, but this land was porous, ribboned with scintillas of bone and shale, with stories old and new. It trembled with the energy/ferocity/boldness beautiful fury of an elegy, fierce as an elegy, written and re-written, erased and re-written over
The once starry night now resembled a cluster of tiny white smudges engulfed by a grim lifeless mass. Just as my eyes were fully shut, I heard a distant yell, followed by a woman 's piercing shriek. My last thought, “What is happening to me.” “We need to evacuate the building.” “Wake the girl, we have to move, NOW.”
Life just wasn't fair! Thought the once famous detective of east as he slowly followed the procession making it's way though endless rows and past countless more. It felt like an eternity had gone by before they came to a stop at their destination. He cast his gaze beyond the procession and watched with eyes that had once shone a cerulean blue as deep as the sea and endless as the sky. Now cold, lifeless, empty as if they'd been replaced with glass, as they placed the grave marker in the ground.
Down a long, empty corridor, the clopping of armored hooves reverberated off the cold stone walls. The heatless flames that clung to the withered wood of the torches dimly painted all that was near them a ghastly shade of blue as they radiated their perpetual light, illuminating the path. The atmosphere grew more and more claustrophobic with each step, the darkness seeming to wrap around the pony’s throat in an attempt to strangle the life out of her. This continued for what could have been a few minutes or possibly even hours or days, the hall was so long.
Ian is my fifteen year old brother. He is almost six feet tall (a whole foot taller than me) and is a freshman in highschool. I am 11, on the shorter side , in 6th grade and half the size of my brother. Neither of us know it, but soon we will start an enormous argument over who gets to watch their favorite football team play on TV. "The Bears game is on later today!
As he described this, his tone became more profound and the dim lighting of the room became much more grim. “Found an elderly couple dead in their boat from hyperthermia.” He looked down as he recalled this haunting encounter. “It was the first time I had seen a dead body, other that in a casket at a funeral. That I was the one to discover them dead, it left a lasting impression.”
Thick, dark ash swam around the sky like silver snow floating to the dry soil. A towering barbed wire fence surrounded the area. Narrow houses scattered across the brittle land, some people shuffling around the camp. Distress, famine, and solitude coated everything in sight. Sitting cross-legged on a distinctive side of the fence, the side of the fence where roses bloom crimson, and tulips shine amber.
Laying upon the sleeping couch, looking out the window. Cloistered in my room for now, I hadn 't left in a day..2? I had remained lost deep in thought. Tears no longer flowed freely.
When I opened the door, all I saw were cobwebs, everywhere. They covered everything, making the walls white, like snow. The dim lighting in the foyer made the room especially eerie. There was a dark staircase leading upstairs straight ahead of me, so that’s where I proceeded to. The corridor was dark, with hardly any visibility, but at the end, there was a sign.
Hannah Siegworth Professor Heather Swan English 153 1 March 2023 Personal Narrative: The Trouble with Wilderness The importance of a “pure” nature was introduced to me at a young age. Our family cabin in northern Wisconsin served as an abode in which we would go to “get away” from the hustle and bustle of the city. This mindset carried me through my childhood, and only when I read “The Trouble with Wilderness” did I begin to question and transform this viewpoint.
“AHH!” i screamed as yet another ‘monster’ had popped up in my face. I hated this, I hated how i let my friends trick me into going in the haunted house that was at the fair. I flinched as yet another person dressed up to be something scary popped up in my face. i couldnt take this, i hate scary things.
There was no way to prevent the dark, black smoke from creeping along the forest floor. Every tree it passed, every brush or lush plant soon began to wither and die in moments. As the all consuming darkness drew closer, the female began to realize her feet were connected to the ground. It was almost as if her feet were frozen in place. Something beneath her clung to her, condemning her to the dirtied, cold ground.
“So this is what it’s like to be a lone wolf, having no one, my only friend is the one who looks back at me through the mirror.” I think this thought every day when I ride the bus, because I really have no friends. I sit in the very back of the bus, I go to school in a rather rural area in Pennsylvania, but my bus is packed. The elementary school kids are doubled and tripled in their seats, the high school kids are mostly doubled, accept for the three girls in seat eighteen, because nobody dared to sit with me. I wasn 't a weird kid, I didn 't move here recently, I did look bad, I had long black hair, 6”1 ', broad shoulders, rather slim but muscular from working on the farm, calloused hands from working with hay and tools, squared jaw, farmer
He looked at his window, sighing in relief when he saw nothing, but when he glanced to his left, he almost screamed. Standing side by side were ghostly apparitions of wounded animals, and red ectoplasm slowly dripped down deep wounds that were carved into the arrangement of
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