Personal Narrative : Am I What They Say I Am?

Something about this truck makes me feel uneasy. This truck gives The truck follows the bus all the way through the rest of the route. I am the only black guy left on the bus. Matter of fact I am the only person on the bus. The sun is still hung in the corner of the sky, accompanied by a few clouds. The bus begins to decelerate, the slow screech of the brakes fill the air. Finally, I can begin the 10 minute walk home. As I walk to the front of the bus and reach the last step, still in the background, in my peripheral vision I still see this truck. I have a feeling that makes me feel uncomfortable. Maybe I am just overreacting. Or am I? I take my first step off of the bus as like Neil Armstrong 's first steps on the moon. I walk off the bus, stepping out on faith that everything will be alright: the truck is just a regular person on their way, and I have a long walk home. This was my thought I should be alright, right? I mean nobody ever comes onto my road unless they live back here. As the bus 's wheels begin to spinoff, I notice that the tuck is still there, creeping behind, turning down my road, inching closer, and closer. I am beginning to feel sick on the stomach on top of my headache. I really feel uneasy, about this truck behind me. I can now see the faces of the people in the truck. There are three Anglo Saxons, each face equipped with scraggly facial hair, uncombed hair, with camouflage overalls on. The truck is a gray ford, two of the scraggly