Summit's Peak: A Fictional Narrative

The book "Within Reach: My Everest Story" by Mark Pfetzer wand Jack Galvin is an autobiography written by Mark Pfestzer at the age of 16. Mark writes about his mountain climbing adventures over a 4 year period that started at the age of 12. The book covers the years of Mark's life mountain climbing from 1992 all the way up to 1996 when Mark is actually climbing on Mount Everest. The chapters in the book are written in a first person narrative with a dated diary format. Each one of Mark's entries talks about his struggles, adventures and personal experiences with the challenges of climbing a mountain.

She’s bleeding. Help! Someone call 911!” She yelled. Everyone rushed out of the school with fear. A big crowd headed toward the door. Alex and I were squished up in the middle. No one will ever notice it is me. Before we can all get out the teachers already blocked us off. Oh no! I thought. I just wanted to get out of here. Short enough, the cops and ambulance were pulling up. The screaming sirens and flashing lights filled the parking lot. The teachers guided us all into the gym so the paramedics could easily get her body. Everyone was filled with confusion and fear. Everything just happened so quickly. Mrs. Crawsond made her way onto stage and approached the

Lauren herself experiences a genuine incapacity. While pregnant, her mom took medicine that was said to be something good for the body and baby, but instead, birthed a child with a hallucinating disorder called hyperempathy. This disorder makes Lauren feel the agony of others. When she commits murder against an aggressor, she truly tumbles to the ground; she is injured by the agony she imparts to the casualty.

The way she uses description in this essay and the flow of events is very similar to the way that memories rush in when one returns to a familiar place from one’s past. To someone that may not of experienced this phenomena the details described may seem to be disconnected and random.

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

I hit my head and fell to the ground. The ground was hard and was cold. I felt my hands got scraped up, but that's relatively normal for me. I got up quickly and started running like nothing happened. Megan put both hands on my shoulders to stop me. “You just ran into something hold on,” she told me. I did what she was told because she was right. I put my hand to my head. My head didn’t feel any different but just incase I asked if she could shine her flashlight on my hands. The moment I saw red on my hands I started to get scared. Megan then shined it on my face. The moment she said “OMG” I knew something happened. She started getting freaked out and disgusted. The look on her face was like she just saw me get murdered. Finally she told me that my face was all bloody. I started to freak out even more. I ducked and ran back to the track. Everything was blurry, but I didn’t feel dizzy. I got to the turf and was about to cross it, but then I realized I didn’t want to get blood on the turf. Even though it was shorter to cut across the turf I didn't want to get blood on it. I decided to take the track around to the front gate. At the moment nothing was going through mind. By the time I got the front gate the blood has ran down my face more because I can feel it dripping. It was cold against my face. I weaved through the gates, and Elizabeth and Blake just looked at me. Elizabeth then realized it was fake blood, and by the time she realized it Megan came running up. We both had to catch our breath and told her what happened. Right before we started telling her what happened, Blake rode off on his skateboard. I was thinking jerk, but that thought quickly left my mind. There was more important stuff to worry about. We didn’t know who to call at first. “Should we call 911?” I asked. The two of them looked at me thinking that was a dumb question. “No” said Megan, but I will call my mom or dad.

Her lips formed strange and unusual sounds, her eyes closed softly and her cheeks paled. From her side belt she withdrew a small knife, a dagger. With a quick movement she cut her left hand with the dagger. As the drops of blood hit the cold marble floor the knife also clattered to the ground. The girl remained speaking her foreign tongue and let her life's blood run down her outstretched arm.

Now far enough away from the night club opening, Jessie could hear the distinct sound of a woman screaming. The heart wrenching sound made her stop mid step. Cold terror washed over her as she neared the corner of the alley and peered around it. There were distinct shapes - someone on the ground writhing in pain, one cowering against the wall, and three that approached her. She heard the poor woman crying out for help and saw one of the advancing shadows reach a hand up to strike her across the face. Nausea broiled in the put of her stomach and Jessie took a cautious step in. For a moment she weighed her options - trying to decide what to do. Did she fight or did she fly? Whatever - or rather whoever she thought she saw obviously wasn't real. There was no Superman. But this woman still needed help. Jessie clung to her phone as though it was a bludgeoning weapon and dialed 911. She took a step forward - about to call out to the attackers - when another shadow landed in front of her.

The contents of the family restroom off of Peaks Place Trail were always the same. The little 8X5 room usually contained a stained-up finger print covered mirror, a leaky sink, a clogged up or overflowing toilet, and a drain in the middle of the floor that had probably never gotten rid of any water in its existence. However, on the last Sunday of every month, the items in dirty room would get a few additions. On these particular Sundays, the public restroom would contain its usual revolting things, but it would also contain a view from the doorway of a rusty bike leaned against a rotting tree, a black duffle bag that housed a few dirty clothes, and a visit from a 19 year old homeless girl who would be frantically trying to get the dirt stains out of the only semi-nice thing that she owned. This particular Sunday would be no different as the young lady tried to get ready for her usual once-a-month church going.

Once standing, Lucy rushes towards the street. Upon reaching what she hoped was the safety of the street lamps she began looking left and right, frantically praying that she would see someone who could help her. As she looked to the right, she saw a person walking toward her down the street. Lucy quickly looks into the alley to make sure the attacker was still down. Seeing that the person was unconscious,she began stumbling toward the person trying to yell “please help.” But barely able to make a sound. The person had a confused look on their face as Lucy got closer her voice slowly came back to

It has been at least an hour and a half since the attack. She does not remember anything that happened. She slowly get up and reaches for the doorknob. A sudden shot of pain went up her arm. Blood then started dripping from her hand. She had been cut. A knife stabbed her in her hand. “Ow.”, She then blacks out.

The day before Martin Luther King Jr’s assassination, MLK Jr. spoke at Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee on April 3, 1968 about the Memphis Sanitation Strike. The intention of the speech “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” was to convince other African Americans to band together and support the sanitation workers after two black, garbage collectors died in an accident. The deaths caused others to realize the unequal treatment of blacks and whites in the workplace. MLK uses ethos, pathos, and logos to persuade fellow African Americans to band together in a nonviolent movement for the equalization between races.

This has to be the strangest day I ever had, as I arrive to Rutherford High School to look for my friends, my mouth gapes open when I saw no one in the building. I stand still, bewildered a million thoughts were running in my mind. “Is it Saturday, no it's Tuesday,” I say to myself as I glance at my phone. Its 7:30 am. Where is everyone? I look to see if I had any texts from my friends when I realize I have no signal. I stand there puzzled as I hear the soft crunch of boots on the dry fall leaves, footsteps coming closer and slower each time. The person, walking gave out a screech every few seconds, a sound so vicious and menacing that echoed through out the empty street. I turn around to see who made that noise. My heart pounded like a jackhammer

A friend of hers realized she had not followed them when they left from the scene. He came back to get her out of the line of fire, but while he was doing that, Anne was hit a second time. But the bullet passed through her lungs, diaphragm, and liver. Her spine injury prevented her from feeling any pain when the bullet traveled in and out of her body. But she could barely breathe. Her friend was unable to drag her all the way to safety without putting himself in danger, so he settled on a spot near the wall of the school and out of the line of fire. It was hot that day, and Anne could smell blood from her wounds boiling in the heat while she dying waiting for help.

He saw it on her face before she punched him, but he didn’t try to stop it. The blow knocked him back another step. Nikolas wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Daddy hits harder, though.” Enraged, Ayana hit him again; grabbing the front of his shirt to keep him standing. Nikolas spat a mouthful of blood on Ayana’s white carpet. He looked up at his sister. He could see the pain and anger on her face, but he didn’t care. “You can do better than that... mom.” Nikolas