STOP! DROP! ROLL! I was ten, the most terrifying event I had been through was riding the little dragon roller coaster at the fair, but that night changed it all. The fear that started in my head spread like wildfire to the rest of my body from the tips of my fingers to the bottoms of my toes. My heart was racing so fast that it could have beat Usain Bolt in a 100m dash. Stop, drop and roll, three steps that should have come naturally, but instead I froze, looked down at my yellow and black checkered flannel in complete terror, fearing for my life. Since I didn’t know better, I stood too close to a gas heater. I was so cold I didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late. Screams echoed in my head, but my body wouldn’t move. Fire, fire repeated over again. I stood there with the smell of smoke surrounding me giving me a massive bear hug, slowly swallowing me whole, like whale swallowed Jonah. My brain shut down, it was like my body was trying to move but my head kept telling me not to. I couldn’t think straight, it was if the smoke had somehow crept into my head, fogging my mind. As a kid my teachers talked to me about what to do in these situations, and how to handle myself. Although I was taught to handle myself and what to do, my body wouldn’t move, I was horrified. Two words, drop and roll, kept running through my head as if they were chasing each other in a circle, but I didn’t move. They were like a song a repeat playing over and over again. Soon another
A cliché way to start a personal essay on why someone would want to go to into medicine would go along the lines of “As I stare towards the future with a decision to make, I look at my own personal experiences and the experiences of those around me for guidance.” Afterward, they would premise their argument by talking about at how they look at medicine as an exciting career option because it is a field perpetually at the cutting edge of discovery, continuously opening newer vistas of human thinking, and knowledge. They then would conclude their argument by talking about how the fulfillment provided in healing physical, and psychological wounds, scars, and bruises go beyond the satisfaction produced elsewhere. While this is all good and true
15 hospitalizations in the last 5 days have been reported in a tourist booming city along the coast of California. Many enter the hospital with swollen feet, coughing, fever, vomitting, uncontrolable muscle contractions, bruissing, and some even have their skin splitting open in random areas on their arms and legs.. Many autopsy results have shown a rare venom that is a trait to only one animal in the world throughout each of the patient’s blood.
In life do we see that everyone else is wrong or do we not want to admit that we are wrong? In my eyes I don't want to admit that I am wrong because I don't want to seem stupid. I ran into a situation last night during soccer practice that I want to understand where the other people are coming from. In this situation people are saying that a group of us Seniors on the soccer team are favorites and in my eyes I don't see that at all.
In the hospital, with almost all my blood lost, I was also unconscious several days. Marilyn visited me, but I do not remember that. Only a week later I commenced little by little to come down to Earth. Marilyn’s first words that I remember were, “You’re better, you will recover soon. I love you.” But I couldn’t say anything clearly for a long time, and just listened to her.
Some days begin like any other, and then end in a way so unexpected, so devastatingly sad that it takes your breath away. You are left with questions like how could this be? Why did this happen? To which there is no answer. Your brain begins to hypothesize and rationalize and pick apart every detail, I should have known. There must have been a sign I missed. I live with these thoughts still, like a an incomplete jigsaw puzzle sitting on a table of sadness, in a house of guilt, on a long dark road of regret.
Allen had fallen from the ceiling after another short hour or so, it turned out that the small lime green, beeping and glowing contraption was an energy shield. Something Mike had commended him on retrieving, telling him how crucial that will be for him in battle. Phoenix smiled as the days events played out over in his head, they were getting stronger now, they’d escaped a head Elark facility without a single fatality. The three grown ups were in the kitchen talking, Phoenix expected they were discussing their next moves. Daniel was sitting at Carter’s desk by the window with his head propped up on his hand, absentmindedly tapping a pen on the hard wood and looking lost in thought. Carter was in the shower where he’d been for the past 30
When I was younger, my mom used to play old comedy tapes in the car when we would drive
I was thrown into the lion’s den at a young age. When placed in this type of situation, you really only have 3 options, futilely attempt to escape, kill the lions and live off their flesh or adapt to the lion lifestyle, none of them being an easy task. Since I was so young, I didn’t possess the power to combat the lions single-handedly like Hercules did against the Nemean Lion and escape was impossible for an undeveloped body and mind. For years I’ve grown accustomed to the lions but they are not the humans I was once familiar with. It’s been a battle to understand this alien lifestyle as well as a mystery to why I was thrown into this den in the first place. Maybe I haven’t been clear with my scenario so how about I
Anger comes from many places. Throughout my past, my main critical adversary was competitive sports, baseball to be specific. In my final baseball game I learned many things about myself. There were two strikes on me in the first inning and I swung and missed on the final pitch. From that one swing I dove into a two year slump from which anger controlled my life. Accordingly, I was at a crossroad, and had a decision to make!
It was a cold, February night at the Knights of Columbus Hall in Boonville, MO. I was at my eighth grade formal. Leading up to my high school years, I was always in my shell. I never came out. A group of my friends and I had been dancing and I noticed two guys walk in. One, I knew through his sister. The other, I knew was in the grade younger than me and his name was Kendall, but nothing more.
Irked at the fact that I have had this same conversation for the hundredth time without ever being able to retaliate, my lid tumbled off and I finally bursted.
There have been many times I have dealt with this pain. Each time it seems to get easier. Does the pain ever fade or go away? The answer is no, it doesn’t ever lessen or disappear. The pain is still there, but eventually I start to realize what is really happening. I now understand, although I begin to feel more pain, the ones I love no longer do and they will always be there with me in spirit.
It was a late September afternoon in Omaha. The leaves had just started turning burnt orange, red, and yellow. My younger brother and I headed down a winding hill home, after I finished my safety patrol duties. When we got home I had made us peanut butter and strawberry sandwiches on wheat bread. After our little snack we convinced our parents to let us go to a friends house, which was down the street. They finally agreed and gave us a time to be home. My brother and I walked out the front door. We headed to the end of the block to the crosswalk. When we approached the red, bumpy mat that connected with the concrete at the crosswalk, I held my brother’s hand. My brother being six years younger than me was scared to cross the street alone, so I was the big sister that helped him.
It ended up making me feel vulnerable. I spent so much time building up my outer shell so that no one could hurt me, but it wasn’t enough. I ended up giving a piece of myself to that person, a piece that I can never get back. The first time I realized I loved someone was long after they had disappeared from my life, and it made me question the true validity of my feelings. How could someone who hurt me so badly still cross my mind so often?
“No Bervelynn, you cannot do this and certainly not go to that”. I would hear this phrase more than my name it was unbelievable. My parents were much overprotected they always confined me to the house. That was their way of preventing me from interacting with society and the real world. They were terrified at the thought of me having sex, doing drugs, getting killed, or ending up pregnant. They wanted me to be away from negativity as much as possible. But at that point in time, I had no idea what any of those things were. I was just a young girl, who dreamed of becoming a cheerleader, going to basketball games and Disney world. No matter how much I wished to go out and do guileless things it was always a NO. I often found myself to be confused and dispirited. I became very insecure and unsure of myself. I no longer knew who I was; therefore, I started trying to be just like other people. I dressed how they dressed, spoke how they spoke, and acted how they acted. I tried so hard to fit in. I had this crazy thought that maybe this will make me feel “superior” to other, but boy was I wrong! Unpleasant things kept happening to me because of it. My peers started to realize that I was putting up an act. I started getting brutally bullied daily. A girl even pulled my wig off once, in front of everyone, because they knew that my hair was fake. I had never been so embarrassed in my whole life. After that incident, I began lying to my parents and started skipping school. It