Hi, I'm Frankie Polo, born in United Kingdom with my sister Jessica. My dad's name is James, he was working as a doctor, and mom's name is Emma, she was working in a restaurant. We were living in a poor house out in a country, but we were happy. My parents decided to take me to school when I had 4 years old, so I can be a real man of course. I was a good student and I was getting 20 marks, I was the first in my school. After 2 years, they took me to a park while my sister in school, they forgot me there. In the night, I was very scared, they were no children around and the park was closed. Two or three gangsters - I don't exactly remember - came and tried to kidnap me, they were too scary, but the guard of the park came and helped me, he was a nice guy. …show more content…
After 2 months, he decided to search for my parents, I was 10 years older. The man was searching and searching, but they found my parents dead. My parents got killed by some criminals. The man didn't tell me that they are dead, but he told me that they traveled to another city. I was crying because my parents weren't good, they never liked me. The man took me to my grandparents house, then I continued my studies. After reaching 15 years old, I was nearly to be a real man as I wished, I was using drugs and bad things. I was a bad student. In a day, Me and two bad friends, we decided to rob a store, we were using weapons, dangerous weapon, but we failed. The Federal Bureau stopped us and sent us to a maximum prison. After I got released from prison, - I was like 24 years old -. I decided to search for my parents because I thought that they traveled - as the man said -. I searched and I searched, then found them dead. I was very
“Ponyboy run for it!”,I yell to him David chasing after him,and pony doged there first atemt then he was caught both arms twisted behind his back and legs gripped by the arms of two socs while they hadnt caught me yet,I was still running.The socs broght pony boy to bob and he pointed tweords the fountain with no hesitation and with that pony boy was head first drowning in a fountain of freezing cold water.As I was runnning from the socs I saw ponyboy as blue as a blue berry trying to hold his breath in.”I can t see this,I need to do somthing” I cryed.It was then that I rememberd I had thatswisarmy knife in my back pocket but I felt Heroism Revenge and Rushed for time but I also felt Question,confused and disbelefe.Eiether way I had to even thought I would be a murderer.With that I Stabed Bob in the heart and he slowly fell to the ground and then colapst onto the cold pavment.
“I guess we need to come up with an excuse when we are asked the reason for the annulment.”
"Two-Bit, I swear, if you don't shut up I will come over there and personally beat the tar outta you."
I also don't own the idea, it was requested to me by the wonderful Amanda. Thank you so much! I hope I did this idea justice.
At the same time: Snap-Whoosh-Growl-Snap-Whoosh-Growl! Return with a fierceness, causing the rest of the men to separate into two groups with some moving to the left in search of the origin of the beastly sounds and the others moving to the right, combining their numbers with those searching for their missing brethren, while Gottlieb stays behind.
I knew it would happen. As much as I tried to stay optimistic, to put off my feelings of suspicion to an old man's negativity, I knew that this case would cost me something more than just my reputation in the town and that didn't even really matter. In Maycomb, reputation is a day by day concept. Sure, we have more than enough of our fair share of immovable gossipers, and drama kings and queens looking for a story to spread. But in everyone's own mind, if you did something stupid, immoral, or just mildly humorous or entertaining, it was the talk of the town and you were judged terribly for a few days, a few weeks tops. Then the whispers, and glances faded to conversations over coffee, and deep inside jokes. My reputation didn't bother me one bit.
Months later, I woke up and walked down stairs to make my oats. I walked downstairs and was looking for my Father. I looked everywhere in the house before I noticed he was no-where to be found. Then I walked into the living room and saw my Mother. She was hysterical. Tears were running down her cheek like the Mississippi flowed into the Gulf of Mexico.
The time I was lost at Walmart, I was six years old I was mad about something and that’s when I started wandering off somewhere until finally I turned around my mom was gone I looked all around couldn’t find her anywhere the feeling of me being by myself without know one being here with me to protect me or be here with me, I felt like I lost her forever and that I can’t find her anywhere because Walmart was like a huge store so it was gonna be tough to find her, after a while I started crying and calling her name “mom!”, at that moment one of the employees at the store helped me find my mom by operating on this entercom and called her name luckily I knew her name because if I didn’t how else will I suppose to find her, next they called her
I heard my door squeak as the person outside of the door opened it. It was my father. He came in and walked up to me at the other side of the room. He had a red rose in his hand and a memorial card along with it. He was a big man.
Of the 58,148 killed in Vietnam, sixty-one percent were under the age of 21. Mark Wright had just turned 20 the day he was killed. A land mine turned his beautiful face into a mess of brain matter and skull fragments and his once strong body into nothing but indiscernible pieces. I watched him die the first week we got to Vietnam. He was my best friend. We grew up together, went to school together, we went to war together, and we almost died together. Religion and superstition weren't really my thing until I was drafted. I found God in those short days before I left. Day in and day out I prayed. I prayed for me, I prayed for Mark, I prayed for anything to stop that God forsaken war before I had any participation in it. My research hadn’t
I was born in Guanajuato, Mexico in Oct, 1994 to a young couple named Jovita and Miguel. I was raised in the country side, in a small town in the big state of Guanajuato, Mexico. I am one on the three children in my family to be exact I’m the middle one in my family. I have my brother Rolando he is the older one and I have a little sister Karen. My parents don’t have so much education they barely finished middle school in Mexico. My mother drop out of middle school because at that time she had to work to help my grandparents at home. Because my grandparents had my mother and other older uncles also drop out school to start working to bring some extra money to the house. My father also drop out of middle school to star working in the ranch that my other grandparents had with Cows ,Pigs ,Chickens and the growth of corn, and wheat.
It was a hot, muggy, sunny morning on the Circle I Ranch ten miles south of Nacogdoches Texas. Mr. Fischer, the owner and supervisor of everyone on the Circle I had gone into town for supplies, stopped by the post office where he picked up a letter. The envelope was wrinkled like it had been hand delivered by someone; it also was ripped and had dirt all over the front. The letters on the front of the envelope were big and bold, as if the person who wrote it was mad. In the big and bold letters it said MR. FISCHER.
When I was younger I would walk to school every day and I would walk pass this brick house that stood on the corner by its self with three green steps leading to a white door. For some reason that house always looked familiar to me and I always had a bad feeling about this house but I have never known why, until one day my dad picked me up from school and we walked passed that same house and I asked my dad why does that house look so familiar? He told me that I was born and raised in that house until I was ten years old. He told me that two guys broke into that house and tried to rob our house while everyone was sleep. My dad was just getting off of work when he caught one of the robbers and the other jumped out of the window. My dad told me
It started when I was a little girl, I think I was about five years old. I grew up in a one parent household, with just my mom. I had three other siblings, two brothers and a sister. My mom was the sole provider of the family. Everything started getting hard for her as we grew. I got curious and asked my mom a question I never asked before. "Mom where is my dad and why isn 't he here to help you take care of us." " Mom said, he was killed when you were a baby." So I never spoke of it again until I had turned about fifteen years of age. I still was curious about what had happened to my father. I started having dreams of my father being around, a man whom i had never seen or meet before. He was just an illusion that I had made up inside my
It was Friday morning and I was in the 5th grade at the time. My father decided to pull both me and my brother out of school. My mother wasn’t home. She had already gone up to the hospital with my grandmother.