I am an eighteen-year-old all American girl with the world waiting at the tip of my pen. I am the apprentice on her way to becoming the master of her own story. With my mind, I can delve into any place that lays beyond the outskirts of an ordinary imagination. I dream and I live those dreams within an infinite number of pages. With my writing utensil, I press pen tip to paper and by doing so I say, "here I am, baring my soul. Criticize how you will." Through the words I utter into the quiet of the night, or the roaring din of a public edifice, I breathe life into new and extraordinary characters with intricate lifestyles who continually undergo arduous tribulations. As I mature, I gain constant new insight into the perspectives of others
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It was a relatively beautiful day-clear blue sky, somewhere in the seventies- and two of the three fourth grade classes were taking our daily restroom break. The way my elementary school was constructed, it was an outside school. As soon as you stepped out of the classroom, you were literally outside. So, picture all of these loud, little ten-year-olds, eager to be the first in line to the restroom with the usual pointless attempts of teachers doing their almost ritualistic ‘shhhhh'ing. We hadn't been standing outside very long when a small car pulled up to the curb of our school, less than two hundred feet away, in perfect view of our curious eyes. The car had screeched to a stop, and three adults had stepped out and moved to the rear of the car, however it wasn't long before one of them ended up on the ground. One of the two women had been shoved by the driver, a man who was waving his hands around in the air, apparently yelling at the woman on the ground. The third woman was slightly behind the man, standing there, doing nothing. The woman who had been shoved wasted no time in crawling to the open passenger door, while the driver simultaneously rushed around the car, still, yelling-he clearly had a terrific set of lungs- and proceeded to slam the car door against the womanś head repeatedly. The other woman had started screaming at the man to stop, but he ignored her frantic pleas. The first thought my ten-year-old mind had was, ¨ Oh my God!" The second had been, ¨ Why didn't she stand up and run when she had the chance? Why was she trying to get back into the car knowing that angry man is still by her? Maybe she's getting her phone" To be quite honest, I nearly face-palmed myself for that last
It was a relatively beautiful day-clear blue sky, somewhere in the seventies- and two of the three fourth grade classes were taking our daily restroom break. The way my elementary school was constructed, it was an outside school. As soon as you stepped out of the classroom, you were literally outside. So, picture all of these loud, little ten-year-olds, eager to be the first in line to the restroom with the usual pointless attempts of teachers doing their almost ritualistic ‘shhhhh'ing. We hadn't been standing outside very long when a small car pulled up to the curb of our school, less than two hundred feet away, in perfect view of our curious eyes. The car had screeched to a stop, and three adults had stepped out and moved to the rear of the car, however it wasn't long before one of them ended up on the ground. One of the two women had been shoved by the driver, a man who was waving his hands around in the air, apparently yelling at the woman on the ground. The third woman was slightly behind the man, standing there, doing nothing. The woman who had been shoved wasted no time in crawling to the open passenger door, while the driver simultaneously rushed around the car, still, yelling-he clearly had a terrific set of lungs- and proceeded to slam the car door against the womanś head repeatedly. The other woman had started screaming at the man to stop, but he ignored her frantic pleas. The first thought my ten-year-old mind had was, ¨ Oh my God!" The second had been, ¨ Why didn't she stand up and run when she had the chance? Why was she trying to get back into the car knowing that angry man is still by her? Maybe she's getting her phone" To be quite honest, I nearly face-palmed myself for that last