Quest Narrative

I have chosen the quest narrative as the style for my spiritual autobiography. I feel the most comfortable writing in this style and that's why I chose it. I also feel like it is the best fit for what I want to write about.

Pg. 98 #1

I remember listening to the results the night of the election. There was so much electricity among the crowds on T.V. as they waited in anticipation. I felt it through the TV and it mesmerized me. Slowly the numbers came in. I couldn't stop watching. My husband and I sat transfixed as we waited for the final announcement, our eyes glued to the T.V. as we ate dinner on the couch. Green curry and rice. I swear I can't even walk into a Thai place anymore without having flashbacks. State by state they trickled in at what felt like a mind numbingly slow pace. I couldn't get comfortable and began to fidget constantly. "What is the matter with you?" asked my husband after enduring several non-stop minutes of constant movement from my end of the couch. And then the announcement. I will never forget those words. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Barak Obama has just been elected the 44th President of the United States." It was over. I wasn't surprised and yet I was relieved. For months now we had been watching the process unfold and now it was finished. Thank God. Don't get me wrong. I voted for Obama. But seriously, did the election process seem to take a painstakingly long time this go around? If I had to listen to one more political commentator drone on about who had the best chances of winning, I was gonna frickin' scream. I actually really love politics. I also love the fact that our country, though long overdue, had finally elected an African-American. But man, I couldn't be happier that it's over.

Spring Break

"Roar!" My daughter growls at me from behind. "Roar!"
I look back at her and smile. She has only recently acquired this talent. Her small mouth opens but not the way yours or mine would, teeth bared, mouth wide open. She contorts her lips into a precious little "O" shape and elongates her chin. It is difficult to describe just how adorable it actually is. She charges me with her tiny, yet curiously strong 18-month old body. I "roar" back and she freezes in place, laughing hysterically. As she giggles uncontrollably, I crawl down the hall and into her bedroom. I can hear her padding down the hall after me, and I press myself up against the wall beside her toy box. I feel her enter the room slowly. She doesn't see me for the longest time. I watch as she picks up her baby doll and feeds it. She mumbles quiet baby talk the entire time as if trying to soothe it. The dolls body flops back and forth in her clumsy hands before being dropped on its head. She has spotted her favorite book, Where the Wild Things Are, and is headed straight for me and the book. I leap out as she is reaching down for the book. "Roar!" She goes crazy with laughter and collapses in a heap. We spend the next hour playing so hard that we both crash on her floor, cuddled under her soft fleece blanket. Poopy diapers aside, I would have to say that this is quite possibly the best way to spend Spring Break. Who needs some overcrowded beach when I have my own little paradise right here in Arkansas?

Scene Description: The Usual Suspects

Orange light glows in front of the man’s face. He is sweaty and exhausted but most of all ready for it to be over. Somewhere close by a liquid is dripping down onto the hard, wooden deck he sits on. The smell is intense and overpowering. The man flips his hand and sends the orange flame through the air. It lands precariously in the river of gas and sends a wall of orange heat flowing in both directions. The man can see now. He pulls deeply at the cigarette. Up above a black, sinuous figure is watching. Almost as fast as the heat traveled across the deck, the figure is there, revealing himself to this man. The man has been waiting though. He knows this dark, dreaded visitor. The one they call Keyser. A match flashes and Keyser takes a long drag from his cigarette.
“How ya doin’ Keaton?” a raspy voice asks from the black coat.
“I can’t feel my legs…..Keyser, “replies Keaton, knowingly.
“Ready?” asks Keyser.
“What time is it?” asks Keaton, wanting to at least know the hour this will all come to an end.
“Twelve-thirty,” replies Keyser.
The sweaty, exhausted man looks up at Keyser as if he understands what must be done. He pauses momentarily and closes his eyes. The noise is spectacular and it fills up the night. Keyser drops the cigarette he has been holding and it falls to the ground, bouncing in slow motion. Suddenly the orange heat is everywhere. The river has once again been ignited.

I Am Running

I am running. Not just running, full on sprinting. Leaping through the air as if I am chasing my own body, not wanting it to leave my sight for fear that it will be forever separated from my soul. My best friend is beside me. Pure adrenaline is the only thing keeping my chubby, 12 year old body in perfect time with hers. Moments before we had been in her bedroom, watching MTV and dancing along with Madonna. It was a dull thud we heard at first. Initially we ignore it, figuring her older sister was in her bedroom across the hall. Then it happens again. Thud! Sarah stuck her head outside the door and into the dark hallway.
“Cindy! Knock it off!”
No reply. We look at each other. Sarah bounds out of the room and across the hall in what seemed like one giant step and flung open Cindy’s door. Thud! Sarah flips around to look at me across the hall in her bedroom. The darkness of the hallway separates us.
“What is that noise?” I ask my voice quiet as if someone may hear me.
Sarah just looks at me. She had been trying to convince me for a year now that her house was haunted. I had always laughed her off but the look in her eyes revealed anything but amusement. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye something slides down the wall in the hallway and lands with loud crash. Shards of glass are everywhere. I look at Sarah still standing across the hall. She looks at me and suddenly our bodies are one. We simultaneously run for the front door through the dark silent house. Something is chasing us. Something in the darkness that made those noises and wants to tease us, play with us a little before it pounces on us. Sarah flings open the front door and we are on the pavement in seconds. Now we run, side by side towards her cousin’s house, through the darkness that surrounds us. I am vaguely aware that there is something chasing us. It is malicious and evil of that I’m sure. Moments ago I was laughing and singing. Now I am running and I am scared.

Blog 2 Page 46 #2

1. I knew as soon as I walked inside things were going to get ugly.....

2. I did not realize how fast I was going when I rounded that hairpin turn....

3. I had not felt well for weeks when I finally went to the doctor.....

4. My supervisor led me back to his office after informing me he needed to speak with me....

5. Although we knew ice was coming nobody could have predicted the outcome....

Blog 1 Page 23 #5 A Character Sketch of my Grandmother

My grandmother is several inches shorter than me at 5'5 and has a slight belly. Her shoulders have begun to slouch over the last few years and her short hair is completely white. She has twinkly eyes, a ski jump nose and a small slit of a mouth that breaks into a beautiful little smile when she laughs. She has never smelled of perfumes or lotions as far as I can recall, sort of a sweet nothingness that is unique to her. She always wears what is comfortable for her which is usually pants, sneakers and a sweater. Her style reminds me of that of a tourist hiking, or spending time at a national park. Practical yet comfortable. It seems everyone in the village knows this woman with the beautiful little smile. Because she has been a top-selling real estate agent for many years she is well known and highly regarded in the community. We always tease her that we can't take her anywhere without someone coming up to say hello or chit chat with her. She is the kind of person that makes you feel special and important. She always has some little tidbit or story to relate that leaves a person smiling as they walk away. Her greatest flaw is not being able to relax. She is constantly on the move. Working, stressing, always on the go. It's amazing that her pale skin remains so silky and smooth. I admire her for all that she has accomplished and how well she has aged. She is an amazingly strong woman brought up during the Great Depression. She raised three young boys while my grandfather worked on his doctorate and somehow moved on when they divorced years later. She is the kind of person that people look up to and respect, maybe even turn to for advice and I am so proud that she is my grandmother.