Personal Narrative: The Leprechaunt
Hey tom these police are going to another robbery seen let's follow them”I don’t know carter, isn't that breaking the rules” “well maybe but it's for the best” so me and tom snuck up to the police car I tried to open the door and it was unlocked “why would those two leave the door unlocked” he whispered “don’t know” I said we got in the police car and lated on the floor. Later that day we arrived at the crime scene and it was a run down old building with cracks in the walls.
For Father The night you left, Mother started sleeping with her bible under her pillow and a gun on your side of the bed. While Brother and I were at school, Mother saw a ghost fly down the stairs and into the basement. She told her white friend about it, how after she saw it, she opened all of the windows and prayed through the house. Spread holy oil over every doorway like
A Ghostly Spark Introduction (reveal): Native American culture has always been an interest of mine. Since my beginning with the Boy Scouts of America on my path to Eagle Scout, I have come closer to the dense but often forgotten history of the First Nation people of America. Upon joining the Order of the Arrow, the BSA’s honor society centered around Native American virtues and beliefs, I have continued to take it upon myself to learn more about the long forgotten Native history. While I knew about the general struggles the Native Americans faced as “white man” invaded the unharnessed Western frontier, I had not learned about the specific catalyzing incidents that caused such conflict and suffered between these two cultures. While searching through topics like native music and combat, I knew I needed an event that sparked the rift between these two types of people, growing U.S. government and early
the layers of walls inches away from freedom. The floor resembled that of a minefield with large holes big enough to fit the decaying bodies left untouched. Shadows could be seen dancing into the night as an old kerosene lamp fuelled their souls. These dark outlines moved through the wind stream lining as if they were kites transforming as they fly to an unknown destination.
I shook my head, and said, “No way; this can’t be.” I saw a family, like someone was rolling a film in front of me. It was like history playing in front of me. I called my mother and told her I saw people eating on a table, a man with a beard, and someone that even looked like my mother. That night, I woke up every hour on the hour, to see if this was real.
The Nine Lives A hero’s journey is an adventure a person takes to improve himself or herself and his or her inner being. Many times the journey comes unexpectedly but other times it is a step one should take as they begin to grow up. There are three stages that take place in this journey; the separation, initiation and transformation, and the return. The heroine of this journey is a 35-year old woman from New York City. Her journey begins in her townhouse that is on the upper east side of the city that never sleeps.
The sun glistened in the daybreak and a dark figure appeared on the foreground, and moved gracefully across the pathway, nearing the bench that presided at my side. My eyes scoured upward as he neared and the sun blinded me, but not before I saw the figure, a man, glance my direction and change his course. He was wrapped in an opaque tunic that countered the illuminated color of his hair, it was a halcyonic gold that glistened against the flare of day. His trousers were khaki color that exalted the man’s frame. Once my eyes cleared and I was able to open them the man was closer than before and I was able to see his face much more clearly.
Glory be to our Lord Christ Jesus! A pleasant good day to each and every one of you, who have graced us with your presence throughout our process of grief; we (Randolph’s family) want you to be cognizant that your noble efforts have not gone unseen and they are very much appreciated. We promulgate high accolades to the NYPD officers, Senator, Governor, and Mayor for their continual support and deeds of altruism. As it pertains to Randolph, our beloved, our beloved Randolph! He was a person that everyone who knew him could attest of him being dependable and enduring of fulfilling most of his promises; he was a person of quiet resolve (inner strength).
Barely awake, I overheard my parent talking in the in the living room. Curiosity took over me as I slowly Got off my bed, silently crept into the hallway, and behind the wall. My brother Blake, who was also awakened, followed me. As we were listening, only one word hit me like my grandma slapping some sense into me. And it was that one word that destroyed my old life.
A human sized toy castle. I dashed around the store looking for any pillows and blankets to put in it. As I was fixing up my “room” i heard a sound. It sounded like something was calling my name. “Jennyyyyy, Jennyyy” it would say in a faint voice.
They each had their own houses, one made of straws, another made of sticks, and the last made of bricks. By this time I was so hungry, so I went in for kill, I was trying to be sneaky, but little did I know was that the pig in the house made of straw house was looking out the window. He starts to scream but good thing no one heard him.
When the boy told him that there was a monster in the closet, his father yelled: “There’s no such thing as monsters!” before slamming the door. But the noises didn’t stop, they only got worse. The boy, terrified, run out of his room but his mother told him it was his bed time and asked him to go to sleep.
I have to leave. I have to escape this terrible place. Corrigan has only been a place of abuse and torment for me and I believe it’s time for me to leave. Laura, the only person who I felt love and affection for, killed herself and I feel partially responsible.
I was putting my Halloween costume on when I heard something moving in my closet. I turn to the closet door half dressed with a curious look on my face. In my mind, it being Halloween, I thought I was just hearing things or my little brother was playing a prank on me. I walk out the door to my room, down the stairs and as I was about to walk out the front door my father caught me, “Where are you going?” he asked “Out, it’s
3 years earlier. I woke up just as I heard the downstairs floorboards creaking. I was sleepy and I was wondering if I imagined it. I hopped out of bed and went into the kitchen. ¨Mom, did you hear that creaking sound?¨, I asked my mom.
More about Personal Narrative: The Leprechaunt
Short Story About 9/11
759 Words | 4 PagesThe Grapes Of Wrath: Song Analysis
846 Words | 4 PagesPersonal Narrative: A Ghostly Spark
658 Words | 3 PagesPersonal Narrative: Howling Off Wolves
198 Words | 1 PagesA Hero's Journey Chapter 3
2758 Words | 12 PagesPersonal Narrative: A Hero's Journey
1529 Words | 7 PagesPersonal Narrative: A Hero's Journey?
595 Words | 3 PagesPersonal Narrative: A Hero's Journey
696 Words | 3 PagesPersonal Narrative: Living In Missouri
677 Words | 3 PagesImmigrant Personal Narrative
1054 Words | 5 PagesPersonal Narrative: Three Pigs
486 Words | 2 PagesNarrative Essay Frankenstein
247 Words | 1 PagesPersonal Narrative: A Place Of Corrigan
1153 Words | 5 PagesNarrative Essay On Halloween
1619 Words | 7 PagesA Short Narrative Fiction
769 Words | 4 Pages