Broken Tractors: A Narrative Fiction

Decent Essays
AS 91475-

I had never really liked dead people - their deathly white skin pulled tight against their bones, eyes open wide, staring bloody murder at me forever. Not that I didn't respect them, I just would rather them in a sealed box to never come haunt me again. Yup. I had no problem with corpses as long as they were nowhere near me. So I guess you can imagine my nauseate, terror filled eyes when I woke up one morning to hear a piercing voice. My mother. “Why is my mother up this early” as i stare into the bright light shining from my phone. I usually wouldn't move from the warm bed of mine but my instincts dragged me by my feet to find my mother talking on the phone in an unusual order. Still, in sleep mode, i slowly start catching the
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He was trying to stay calm.
“DON'T come any FURTHER!”
When I was little I used to cross “the line” while pushing the buttons of the other member in my family, however, I knew that this encounter I wasn't ready to face what was lying on the other side of that broken tractor.
Fright consumed every cell in my body, swelling them with terror as I thought about what the body looked like. Only appalling conceptions blurred my mind I pictured a man lying like a doll against the cold decaying bank, limbs at awkward angles and his head held in such a way that he couldn't be sleeping. My mind started to turn or was it my stomach my nervous system overheating in the shock. Panic.

A silent murmur spoke from my mother's mouth “Wait there”. I internally screamed “Wait for what? Wait for the sun to wake up this man from the dead? Wait for the news that I already seemed to know?” The ambulance came first. I couldn't hear it coming, I could only make its blurred shape through the confused darkness. I turned and didn't look back, continuing to walk away from the crash scene, not wanting to face this head
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The cranking noise consuming my conscience, we were the outsiders. The site was bombarded with people; firefighters, ambulance officers, police officers, farmers, and lastly my parents. After all this time waiting I need to know what was going. Turning back around to face the disaster behind me, I see my mother walking towards me. Dread. Dread has my stomach locked up, nothing getting in or out. Step by step my mother was getting closer I dreaded everything I said about wanting to know. Panic hit me like hot flushes in the cold morning, I was overheating, unable to
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