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Ecstasy-Personal Narrative

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Sometimes, when I was little, I would daydream as I watched my mother sew dresses and prepare meals. I would just sit on a little wooden stool quietly and look up to the ceiling with my head swaying, and I would dream.

I usually thought up stories about the day I would be knighted, or sometimes I would imagine how one day, I would rescue the princess who was singing away at the top of the tower. Not once did I dream of becoming a blacksmith.

Since I was a mere ten years old I began training, watching my father slamming a hammer hard onto a piece of metal rather than listening to my mother softly singing as she washed our clothes by the river. I was the one who had to run for the healer as my father burned his hand when he came too close to …show more content…

Jack, the eldest, married the daughter of a highly rich and respected family of the kingdom. Walker fell in love with a hard-working girl a few years older than himself, whose own personal opinion was that the wife should be doing all of the work. It’s a pity, really, that he couldn’t have wed a girl with higher intelligence.

Evan is far too young to work yet, at a mere five years old. Soon he will likely be trained to work at the market, selling vegetables and whatnot. It’s still a better job than I will receive. And Samara, my mother’s only daughter, who is a skilled artist and the sibling I fear most for. Art may be a nice hobby, but it is near impossible to even hope for a job with it. Hopefully she will find sewing as compelling as painting.

I am fortunate enough today to finally have a break. My mother has requested for me to drop by the market today to buy some vegetables for tonight’s dinner. Surely not the most interesting option, but it was that or working away at the shop for another twelve …show more content…

But tomorrow, you’ll be back at it and busy hammering away again.” His eyes shine, and I smile in spite of myself. My father isn’t the goofy, carefree type, but sometimes he had his days where he wasn’t as serious. We all enjoyed those days.

When I do finally arrive at the market, the first person I spot is Walker. I grin and weave through the crowd, not letting my eyes stray from the mass of red hair that lay piled atop his head.

While most of my siblings stick to either side, my mother or my father, Walker was a mixture of both. The red hair, clearly from my mother, who had the brightest shade of carrot orange, and the bluish-green eye colour from my father. Walker’s face was heart-shaped like my mother’s, and he had a strong, tall build as my father did.

“Walker!” I call, my hand waving in the air. At the sound of his name, Walker turns, and his eyes immediately brighten. His mouth curls into a smile as he shoves his way through the crowd, only stopping when he ends up in front of me.

“Adoni!” Walker exclaims in joy. “How’s the family? You all doin’ well?”

“Quite,” I say. “I get a day off work today after I bring home some vegetables. How are you and

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