Dawn and I pulled into the parking lot with thirty minutes to spare. The building loomed in front of us like a gray giant. The cold steel, glass, and concrete reflected the sunlight like some foreboding prism. My stomach developed “butterflies” at the very thought of entering. Dawn reached over and squeezed my hand, and for an instant, I saw the familiar glimmer in her eyes that I have relied on, over the years, to reassure me that all is right with the world. It had been awhile since I had seen that glimmer and it made my heart ache knowing that there was nothing I could do to bring it back into her daily existence. Dawn is an eternal optimist and I have often told her that I wished the world really was the “Disney-like” paradise that she believes it is. She always responds with a smile and reminds me that things can always get worse, and that there is more good than bad in the world. I always replied the same way by mumbling some sort of agreement with the first part of her statement and a healthy dose of skepticism to the latter part. We made our way across the parking lot to the entrance of the menacing structure, and we cast one last glance at each other before pushing the door open. The lobby was as impersonal and industrial looking as the exterior. There were chrome chairs gleaming in the sunlight and the floors and walls were almost blinding under the cold fluorescent lights that run the lengths of the hallways. The corridors extended in all directions, like the tentacles of some great beast and all of them created their own sense of dread for the unlucky person walking down them. Dawn pulled me towards an open elevator door. As the door closed, the feelings of doom increased and at that moment I felt as if I knew what it must be like for a prisoner walking down death row to meet his fate, the realization that life as you know it is over. The elevator lurched upward and my stomach dropped, like an ominous omen of what’s ahead. The doors opened and Dawn led me down another equally, dread inducing, corridor to a large wooden door. We entered the room and this lobby was only slightly more personal than the main lobby was. This lobby did have a few outdated magazines which suggested that at least one other human being had been in this room before. I found myself wondering how a building that was less than five years old could have magazines in the lobby that were eight years old and this did not help instill confidence about what was to come. We walked up to the large desk in the center of the lobby and spoke with the woman seated there. She escorted us down yet another corridor and into a small room. In a very “professional” tone, she informed that someone would be with us shortly and we should have a seat, she then turned abruptly and left us, sitting alone in the room. Dawn began chatting nervously about the weather, the kids, etc. in an attempt to keep my mind off of things and to help me stay calm. I also knew this was a type of “defense mechanism” she uses to hide how scared she really is. She does this whenever she gets nervous or frightened so I just pretend to be interested and smile a lot. I was constantly squeezing her hand, not knowing if it was to reassure me or reassure her. Dawn and I have known each other since we were toddlers and it is almost like we know what each other is thinking. She knew how uncomfortable I am with “feelings” and such, so she kept the conversation light, covering such topics as what we were having for dinner, how much homework the kids had, and how much longer it would be until spring. I was extremely grateful for these “light” topics because I had no idea what to say if we talked about why we were in this room. I feared that the very mention of “it” would be more I could bear. No matter what the outcome of this visit was, I knew our lives would never be the same again. After what felt like an eternity to me, it was actually ten…
Michelle E. Diaz
ENC 1101 - 189381
November 3, 2014
Narrative Essay Revision
Resentment: Self-Inflicted and Self-Cured
Overcoming an obstacle doesn't mean that certain events have to stop occurring so that it's classified as overcome. I was once told, “Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.” I believe that to be 100% correct. I was raised in a culture where the man of the family, the father, the husband, holds the utmost authority and responsibility…
The transition of a high school student to a college undergraduate is a life-changing experience that most youths go through. The course that led to this transformative event began on the first day I entered high school. Attending a technical school for four years was the best decision I could have made. It prepared me for the real world while simultaneously providing me with the skills needed for college. My first year in high school was like moving into a new city and trying to…
A couple of years ago, I was mowing the lawn in my grandmother’s backyard. It was extremely hot and the sun was beating down relentlessly. Then all of a sudden, I spotted an object under the six inches of grass. I picked up the faded pink object only to discover that is was a monkey. Not a real monkey, but one of those monkeys from those Barrels of Monkeys. At that moment when I first realized that it was a monkey, I immediately thought of my grandfather…
DESCRIPTIVE VS. NARRATIVE:
WHICH ONE IS BETTER?
ENG121: ENGLISH COMPOSITION I
MAY 25, 2014
DESCRIPTIVE VS. NARRATIVE : WHICH ONE IS BETTER?
Descriptive and narrative writing are both two different styles of personal writing that are used to enhance a writer's portfolio. When looking at descriptive writing, a person is using words that describe a person, place, thing, or event to paint a vivid picture to their audience. Narrative writing is when a person…
In the narrative, Shooting an Elephant, George Orwell shares his personal experience of a moral challenge he has faced. Orwell was an officer in a poverty infested place called Burma and was hated by many of its citizens. Burmese people saw him as an evil white imperialist. But one day, when a raging elephant tore through the Burmese town the citizens looked towards Orwell with burning eyes that persuaded him to shoot the beast. Every inch of Orwell’s body…
after night, I would take stacks of storybooks to her, and while I sat in her lap, she would read them to me. As a result, I learned to read at the age of five. I am a visual text such as comics and graphic novel.
4. In school I use to writing for an essay and at work like a nursing field I use writing report. Also I use email, text and chart.
5. I am a dissertation. Because I don’t really like discussion with classmates I think I can’t talk enough or share ideas with others. I like to my own when I…
Abukhalaf /Picture p 1
Freshman Writing, Block 4
By Summer Abukhalaf
“Meet with us in science after school, okay?” Maggie says.
“Okay, let me call my mom and tell her about it,” I say.
I know my mom will never let me walk with my friends to go to someones house.
I’m so excited to go trick or treating with my friends. This year is supposed to be
absolutely perfect. Eighth grade is very important. It’s your last year in middle school…
“Paper #1 – It’s a girl”
The narrative story called “The F Word” by Firoozeh Dumas talked about she came to America when little and all of her family had some exotic names. Firoozeh was so embarrassed of how people used to change her name because they were not able to pronounce it on the right form. Firoozeh could not even find a job just because of her name. Firozeeh finally changed her name to “Julie” even now her parents did not want to. Firozeeh changed her name, and after that she finally…
Essay #1: The Narrative
The waves crashed down at a velocity only measurable by Mother Nature plunged me down into the abyss of the ocean floor. Her volume and mass of water tossed me around like a pin ball bouncing off rubber paddles. I helplessly squirmed around trying to find my sense of direction. Thoughts of accepting a trophy, coated with a glazy gold plastic dip, on a podium at the Olympics ran through my head as I demonstrated different variations of underwater cartwheels: one handed…
Narrative Essay Examples
In a narrative essay you tell a story, but you also make a point. So, it is like a story told for a reason.
Narrative Essays: To Tell a Story
There are four types of essays:
•Exposition - gives information about various topics to the reader.
•Description - describes in detail characteristics and traits.
•Argument - convinces the reader by demonstrating the truth or falsity of a topic.
•Narrative - tells a story, usually from one person’s…