Personal Narrative-Complete Heterochromia

Vehemently, I threw my myself on the bed, covered my head with pillows and screamed in pain and agony.Like a pack of wild, hungry ferocious wolves, the thoughts began to commence and every second they got louder. Like paws,every sentence clawed at my brain,every thought pierced my mind in agony,and my body began to shake. The shivers started from the tip of my fingers and cascaded straight down my gut, my body shook, and I screamed

So much pain, so much blood. Everything was fuzzy, people looked like splotches blocking my vision. The yelling. It’s getting louder. I look for light, but only darkness is here now. There. Under the door. I try my hardest to lift the fallen door, but a shooting pain propels up my leg so I stop. “

I awoke to a cacophony of screams, both of excitement and of pain. I jolted up quickly, unable to control my own muscles or vocal chords, as if a spectre was holding me back with airy fingers of death.

I could hear my breathing as if it was a voluntary action. As I saw my mom car come screeching into the driveway, she rushed out, I ran up to her as I tearfully asked, "Is he okay?" With hesitancy and a sorrow- filled voice she said, "He's dead," I screamed over and over again, "No, no, not my brother! Anyone but him!" and I broke down crying, I felt as if I was paralyzed, I felt like I was suffocating; as if a giant hand was clamped around my heart, I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, I wanted for it to not be

Slowly, I awoke to see looming trees all around me, bending over me, watching. Listening. They heard the screams, they heard my screams, I was still screaming. I clamped a trembling hand down over my mouth to only realize it was closed, my lips rolled in. And then thick as velvet. The blood pooled.

My head felt as if it was too explode, blood was dripping down from my forehead, and a throbbing pain was coming from my leg. At first I had no idea where I was or what was happening. In the distance I could hear a scream, although it was fading and my eyesight was blurry. I tried to stand up as I remember but I was not able too. I kept wondering to myself if this was a dream, but I felt pain. Terrible pain. How could I feel this much pain if it was a dream. Then all at once it came back to me. The memory, the fear, the frightfulness, the nervousness, and the sadness.

I closed my eyes, exhaled as much as I could, and pushed. Face first, I was thrown against the first gate. My thoughts threatened to permeate

The pain became so unbearable that it felt as though it was slowly rotting at my heart, the guilt became so unbearable that it felt like it was quickly burning my brain. Through fear I kept my eyes open, not wanting to close them even though I knew keeping them open wouldn’t help in the slightest. Still, it made me feel safer, more like I could defend myself. My eyes resembled black pearls as I attempted to peer through the darkness, opening my eyes even more in an attempt to see at least something. But still,

I’m a black male so I must be dumb, violent, and ghetto. My girlfriend is from Ecuador, so she can’t speak English. My mom is from the south of the Mason-Dixon line, so her husband must be her cousin. I was raised in Newark, NJ that must mean I’m a black male who can’t read or selling narcotics on the street corner. I’ve been stereotyped for my whole life. Ever since I came out the womb, I have been captivated in stereotype wheel and I haven’t been able to escape. I despise the fact that I get judged based on what’s the color of my skin, where I was born, what music I listen to, and also what things I like to do. Stereotypes is the biggest weight minorities have to fight against me.There are some groups

Darkness enveloped me, and everything in sight. I could barely feel my body, but I could tell I was sitting. I heard someone talking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew it wasn’t English. Something was ripped off my head, and I figured it out that it was a burlap sack. Bright lights stung my eyes and I had to squint to make out that there was an ancient looking camera filming my every move. I turned my head and saw a blurry version of one of the gunmen from my first nightmare. The classic black ski mask that you would see from a cartoon concealed his identity. I felt my mouth move in reply to whatever the gunman said, although I didn’t know what he said, or what I was saying for that matter. The gunman closest to me raised his Glock 42 and struck me across the face, and I tasted blood flood into my mouth, and spit out a glob of saliva and sticky blood. I didn’t care where the blood fell because I wanted to show as much disrespect as possible. He pointed his Glock at me, and I noticed that his aim was flawless. I could see the golden bullet lodged in the chamber. The gunman spoke and his words were muffled because of his mask, but I understood what he said.

My heart started pounding against my chest, trying to escape and find a healthy pair of lungs, because mine it seemed had been replaced with those of a six-year-old girl. My mouth grew cold and dry as if the air around me was on the brink of snow. I desperately tried to tell my brain that everything was fine and that there's no need to panic. But my brain ignored me, as it had done many times before, and ordered by organs to keep fighting the against the danger to come. My head never seems to listen to me.

Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath -- and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men -- but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror! --this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! --and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

I furrow my eyebrows and try again, a little confused as to why I'm unable to move my tongue. After another failed attempt I deduce that it must be whatever they injected me with that hasn't worn off yet. A dry tickle works its way up my gullet, resting at the back of my throat. I cough, the sound scratchy against my ears. A moment later I feel warm liquid trickling into my mouth and I gag, suddenly choking on the thickly unidentifiable liquid burning down my throat. A siren starts whirling and my eyes widen as my brain starts screaming for oxygen, tears dripping down my

Hands were wrapped around my neck. I couldn 't breathe. I felt something touch my hand and I let out a sob. I tried to calm myself down. This isn’t going to happen again. I

I could feel the blood pounding in my chest. Blackness crept into the fringes of my vision. My voice was hoarse from screaming; I didn’t remember screaming though.