Personal Narrative: A Personal Essay

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“The inside of the shell looks to me like a sore throat mouth,” is the sentence I wrote on paper eighteen years ago. It was my first day of an expository writing class and I was a freshman in college. Assorted objects were placed in the center of a table, around which twenty students and I sat around. Professor H asked us to describe the objects. What I saw was a seashell, a piece of driftwood and a black and white framed photo of an old man and a silver pocket watch. I wanted to sketch the still life in opposition to writing. I looked around me and observed all the students writing. At the end of our allotted ten minutes, I finally scribbled down my single sentence. Professor H asked us to read aloud what we had written, and as I listened …show more content…
The writing was frankly boring, like the sentence scribbled on back of a postcard of the Grand Canyon which states “I saw this view”.

Twenty hours before the class began I was forced to produce and to create an interesting essay; I had to reveal. I described a vivid memory of and an incident at a party which occurred after a family wedding. As the hours went by and I wrote more and more sentences, I remember feeling like I was inside my high school dark room. I felt the same feeling of relief as I felt when going inside the dimly lit dark room away from the florescent lights. As I wrote I sensed the same excitement I felt when dipping the photo paper in liquid and watching a photo appear. I did not want to be interrupted as I wrote about the experience, which became more vivid as the hours went by. When the photo appeared underneath the liquid, I always feared someone would open the dark room door, making the photo disappear.

As I wrote about the party, I was once again sixteen and began to see the people at the party in their fancy suits and dresses. Their eyes were blood shot. I watched them rip the mirror off the hotel wall. I remember people rushing to the coffee table where the mirror was placed.

When it was my turn, I kneeled next to the coffee table and with the rolled fifty-dollar bill. I saw my mirrored reflection as I stuffed the rolled bill into my nostril. My dress had fallen off one shoulder but I used my free hand to

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