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Personal Narrative : A Story Of The Story-A Short Story

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Some fifteen years ago, Jhin Wayne, his wife, and son were walking home from a movie and chatting about how would the ending be if the protagonist pressed the wrong button. Suddenly, a deep voice from the dark broke the joyful atmosphere, “Good evening.” “W-What is this?” Jhin questioned. “A stickup, buddy!” A tall and brawny man appeared behind the green trash container and limped toward them. “I will take that necklace you are wearing, lady!” He stretched out his hand and tried to reach the necklace that Mrs. Wayne was wearing. At the same time, Mr. Wayne raised his hand back and slapped on stickup’s arm. Jhin’s palm was bright red, the same red mark that matched the one on stickup’s arm. “Don’t you dare touch her.” “Inna and Ekko, stand behind me.” He could hear pulse bearing in his ears. “You asked for it.” He pulled out a handgun and shot Jhin in the chest. “Now, give me your purse and necklace.” “You killed him, you killed him!” She kneed down beside her husband, shouted angrily and cried helplessly. “Help! Anyone? Police…Help!” “This will shut you up” Another gunshot cracked into the air as loud as thunder. The boy’s eyes are wide with terror and shock as the horrible scene was spread before him. They heard cars purr in the distance. The stickup grabbed the purse on the ground , took to his heels, and disappeared in the darkness. “Mother, Father…” He moaned and went into a coma and lay beside his parents’ body. Days later, Ekko

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