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Personal narratives on my hero
The hero's journey story concept outline
Hero's journey writing
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It was a world of white and grey. Flurries of powdered snow filtered down from the overcast sky, the crystals unhurriedly moving to join their brethren already hiding the soil and rock below. Each footfall was accompanied by the sound of crushed ice beneath, each step pulling itself free from the blanket of frost only to return to its embrace scant inches farther. The snow wrapped all the way up to the knee as though it were alive, hindering progress while the air served its own part in deterring trespassers. The frigid locale was paired with a thin atmosphere, and while the snow could hardly be considered heavy on its own, every breath turned progress into an ordeal. It was a struggle not against man nor beast, but against a lack of oxygen …show more content…
There had even been organized efforts to reach the top itself—full complements of adventurers and explorers turned into would-be-tourists—and yet no matter the numbers, every person that had tried to traverse this forbidden domain was inevitably lost. Despite the picturesque tranquility of its landscape, it was scarce a wonder why it had become so resolutely avoided; no matter how many tried, no matter how much time passed, the peak was still untouched by mortal hands. Not even I had touched upon it yet. The wind howled defiantly against my body as though to fling me from the very precipice I walked. “Go back” it all but seemed to howl as it tore at the heavy cloak bearing the brunt of the assault. “You’ll never make it.” And it was true. As many others before, I too had underestimated the mountain’s treachery, and by now the sun was beginning to set upon the distant horizon. The already grey world was dipped into yet darker shadows, the chill growing ever more tenacious against my clothing, and the dark browns of my protective cloth—once lightly wettened from the exposure of snow to body heat—were now left stained and heavy with formations of
As we were climbing up the hill, I looked around to notice how green the lightly damp grass was, how beautiful the tall trees were, and how fast those snow clouds were moving above us. We got one elk on this adventure, so we decided we would pack up our stuff and head back home. As the white GMC reached the summit of Red Mountain Pass, I looked back to Silverton to see nothing but snow falling from the nearly black clouds in the sky, and I thought to myself--let it snow.
Last summer, I had an amazing opportunity to take part in a three-week expedition trip in the Teton Mountain Range. This expedition included an eleven-day hike along the crest trail of the range and a four-day guided ascent of the Grand Teton, the tallest in the range. It was a fierce personal challenge and I prepared myself physically for the arduous climb. At 13,776 feet in elevation, hiking the Grand would be a massive challenge as I had no experience in technical climbing. Our expedition guide, Ben, spent a day teaching us how to climb using ropes, then we headed out from Corbett High Camp at three in the morning. As we approached the west face of the Grand Teton, our visibility was impaired as we were in the clouds, and the mist from last night’s rain had not evaporated.
“The stranger came in early February, one wintry, though a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried” (Wells 1).
At various points in history, I, the explorer have appeared on numerous occasions all as different personalities. I am highly motivated and as thrill seeking as a comet. I love to travel at maximum velocity seeking out dangerous and exhilarating events. I am expeditious, I am worthy, I am strong, I am legendary, sometimes I can be absolutely mad, but despite all of my personality traits; I am natively known as the explorer. I seek adventure in new or unfamiliar areas, whether it be the deepest and the darkest parts of space and time, or perhaps something beautiful. I am always prepared for a challenge and will go to phenomenal lengths making sure I use my time wisely, because may I remind you; that the clock is not our friend.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
One instance in which ice and snow reveals deeper meaning can be found within the struggle between nature and the protagonist of “Hunters in the Snow.” Tub this particular type of conflict is commonly known as “man versus nature,” and characterizes Tub’s experience
I poured my first cup of coffee for the day and anxiously searched for a weather report that could predict with some degree of accuracy as to just how severe this storm was going to be. I had to determine whether I would go to work or stay home. My heart sank as I pulled back the living room curtains and saw that the snow had already started to fall. I decided that it would be in my best interest to call into work and prepare for the several hours of back-breaking shoveling that faced me during the day. As I watched the snow pile up I decide it was time to get dressed and get outside to find the shovel and get ahead of what was to be a significant snowfall. I hated to leave the warmth of the house, but if I stayed ahead of it I might not ache as bad tomorrow. As I walked out the door, the smell was clean and crisp. The snow fell silently and was cold against my face. Each snowflake felt different, some seemed colder than others and some seemed heavier than others. Every so often the wind would blow causing the snow to swirl in multiple directions at one time. As it lay heavily on the...
The harsh leafbare winds of the north blazed across the tundra like a freezing cold fire, howling louder than a wolf. Snowflakes blew rapidly across the landscape, almost blocking your view. The only thing visible was the moon, the snow glittering in it’s light.
“The stranger came in early February, one wintry, though a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried” (Wells 1).
Fluffy white snow glistened on the ground a few weeks before Christmas, 2007. I have never been a fan of the cold, losing feeling in my limbs or wet saggy clothes, but I was determined to trudge my way to Potter’s Golf Course to sled ride with friends. That determination was shot down quickly, as Grandpa’s rusty, red Ford pick-up truck eased into the steep driveway. Excited to be out of school and out of the house for the day, I bolted out the door and right into Grandpa.
Jack and Taylor made their way deeper and deeper into the ridges of the Appalachian Mountains. Night came, and they had made a substantial amount of progress during their first day of hiking. They set up camp and tried to stay warm with blankets and a fire. The next morning, they woke up to a sheet of snow covering ...
It’s December of 1967, the snowfall had begun early this year, but whether it came in inches or buckets, I could hardly wait for weekends. Playing outside in the snow was awesome. When I was nine years old, a Saturday morning routine consisted of my older brother’s and I waking up to a warm bowl of oatmeal with a raisin smiley face, and thirty minutes of mom methodically layering us with snow pants and jackets, socks and boots, hats and mittens, and a scarf. One by one we rushed outside to begin our day. I remember waddling down sidewalks with mountains of snow on each side, fierce snowball fights with neighbors across the street, swirling angels’ wings in a fresh layer of snow, and cheers for finding the biggest icecycle. Our annual snowman displayed a warm hat and scarf, two branches from the maple tree in our front yard, raisins and a carrot for the eyes and nose. My brothers and I would stay outside for hours and hours, only coming inside when we were called to dinner or could no longer see in the dark. A delicious hot meal or a cup of hot chocolate would be waiting at the table after we left a mound of winter clothes at the door. My day always ended with mom tucking me in with a good book and a kiss good night, and I’d fall asleep dreaming of endless possibilities in the snow. Life was good, I didn’t want for anything; mom and dad anticipated my needs before I even knew them.
An early winter breeze ripped through me, ruffling the sleeves of my jacket and whipping hair into my face. The cold and prediction of snow had driven everyone inside for the day, at least as far around me as I could see; the fog blocked out everything outside a five foot radius. I was at the top of a hill and couldn’t even see the bottom of the road. There were no cars, no people around, only the snowflakes to keep me company, falling softly at first, then whirling around as occasional gusts of wind cut through the valley. Blasts of air pushed heavy piles of snow off tree branches toward the ground, landing silently on top of the existing snowdrifts.
...ture poetry. I could picture a winter scene: "As the breeze rises" and the effect of "the sun's warmth" on the sheaths of ice covering the tree branches. But this is where I ended the scene. I did not picture the shattering of ice "on the snow crust" like "heaps of broken glass to sweep away." Initially, I did not get the
Ice. Burning cold on all of my limbs. Head to toe. This is all I have ever known. I gaze around to look at the empty, solemn world I am living in. Not that I am actually living, however. The wind wails like a child looking for its mother, impossibly lonely. I could not help but feel the same way. Snow of all sizes, ranging from light powder to heavy hail, crashes to the white ground from the lonely sky. The vast, monochrome grey void stretches to what seems like an infinite distance. The harsh wind whips around in a frenzied whirlwind-like chaos. My raw, red skin burns when the snow and freezing rain collide with my skin. The wintery mix feels like shards of glass ripping into my skin. I attempt to move, but my joints were nearly frozen from the sub zero temperatures around me. My fiery anger, overflowing with hatred towards God, may have been cooled by the hyperborean atmosphere had my aching rib cage not protected it. I breathe in the air, only to breathe in snow, then cough violently to try and rid my body of the pure, white, burning flakes. “I hate you, you filthy tyrant!” I scream, shrieking as more snow enters my lungs, burning them. I burn from the inside out and the outside in. The intense pain would have been enough to commit suicide, that is, if I had not already met my maker. Snatching my arm as more shards hit my skin, I notice burn marks.