Personal Narrative: Death Sad And Depressing

On 09/12/2016, I Deputy Daniel Pruitt was dispatched to 52455 West Highway 16 for an unattended death compliant. I arrived on scene st 6:45pm and meet with Creek County EMS unit 40.

Fire is what sent me to Miami. Death is what sent me back to Nashville, Georgia. I thought that death would no longer burden me when Grandma died. I was young though. Death follows us. I know it followed me.

During my childhood and early teen years I did not think much about death, because I never experienced it and my parents never mentioned that topic. Death was not something that I necessarily feared only because I never had to think about it. I only thought of death as something that happened to older people and mostly to people on television. Furthermore, I never thought of death happening to me or anyone in my immediate family. Consequently, I had distanced myself from death and for several years managed to ignore my own mortality. It was not until my teenage years that I began to develop anxiety and fear of death after living through certain societal events such as mass shootings, terrorist attacks, and killings of people of color.

Cozy coffee shops, warm summers, friendly hugs…1.2.3. Disastrous events occur all the time. We are always aware that someone, somewhere in the world, is hurtling forwards into tragedy. Tragic endings leave behind unanswered questions, unfulfilled dreams, unspoken thoughts. Those who love you are left behind, in the dust of your presence, spent to forever remember only your memory, not your existence. Crisp slices of toast, piping hot cups of tea, fresh strawberries…1.2.3. We all tend to forget an end exists. We spend our lives compiling as many happy memories as we can, fully enjoying the good days, deeply mourning the sad ones. When tragedy strikes, only then are we reminded that the end is there, and we scurry and try once again to make the most out of

The remorse grey morning awaited. I never knew one person could have such an impact on my life, as well as everyone else’s lives. I always thought everything was just a beautiful fantasy land where everything was perfect. Waterfall coming out of everyone's eyes filled my imagination of what one man can do to a crowd. I asked myself one question, “Why him, why does it have to be him”. The emotions, pouring out of meand I knew the fall of 2006 was gonna be bad.

Please, oh please let the words come. I sit, and stare, and type, and I backspace. No one will like it. My work is crap. Crap, crap, crap. I crumple my paper watch it fall. The clock taunts with its ticking reminding me of all I want to forget. It creates a beat; a song. Poetic chords and dismal notes ring in my ears. But no, this is thought I should avoid. I am great- better than great. People will love this. Oh please, please, please let them love this. Will my legacy amount to nothing more than abysmal hope? This is the last time I think of it. Oh please don’t let me think of it. The blank page stares at me and I begin to write. One word, then another, then another, and another. You will never know what comes out onto the page until it is

The leather feels cold under my fingertips as I sit on our living room couch. My feet are propped up on the small coffee table, banging together lightly in boredom. Mom sits with me, our shoulders barely touching. It's only been twelve hours since I found Laura in the alley and the police already want to put us into protective custody. I don't want to go, but there is nothing tying me here anymore. Laura's gone.

For the last few days I've left completely lifeless-not depressed- just lifeless. I'm very familiar with the feeling of depression. But this shit right here is on a whole different level.

Why am I torturing myself? Enclosed in a 3 sided cage with only the illusion of freedom out the steel framed front door. The mirrors on the walls staring at my jiggling fat from all angles. The dingy ceiling tiles are stained from countless roof leaks and the floor littered with pebbles and rubber from a busted medicine ball. The sting of body odor and bleach fills my nostrils. Head splitting music ravishes my ears through the chaos of weights clashing and ropes smacking the floor. My classmates glare at me with their squinty hypocritical eyes.

The holograms should’ve warned us to take a deep breath. Close our eyes. Then again, the holograms should’ve done a lot of things. Like told the truth.

My sister thought of my name when I was a newborn. At the time she was really into a book series called The Babysitters Club, and there was this one character that was named Christie. My sister loved her name so much that she suggested the character’s name to our parents. They agreed, but they wanted to change the Ch into a K. So that is how I got Kristie as my name. I am the type of person who is very quiet and reserved who does not like to talk to people that much.

She watched him leave and climb atop his bike. He started it with minimal effort and soon disappeared into the light of day. ‘It was him,’ she thought. All of his words so fresh in her mind, had her frozen in her place. ‘It was him.’ Three simple words that kept coming back to her. ‘He said he’d be there.’ Molly knew the ball was now in her court. She could either call the game and walk away, or she could make a play. Either was the choice was hers’. She held all the control. It’s something she wanted. Death is ineviatable. How we die is something we can decide. Normally we are all on our crash courses with destiny, barreling at speeds we can’t even begin to comprehend towards whatever has been laid out before us. There are times when we can

The red flashing lights eluded the oozing thick, pasty, dark crimson liquid, which cascaded from their warm bodies on the floor imprinted dirty with footsteps, creating a puddle children could play in. I tried to look back, but a gust of steam emerged along the hallway, burying each dead body like it was a funeral. It delivered an urgent memo that I had to run, not for pleasure, but for my life. Too many times today have I stared death directly in the face and too many times have I gotten away from the inevitable daunting truth that lurks through the shadows trying to drag and crush me under its weight. I can safely say that compared to running forever, dying doesn’t seem that bad. But I can’t give up, and I’m not going to give up. I need to

On the morning of May 5th my views, my ideology, and my life changed dramatically. It was an expected loss yet caused me to realize just how much things in life mean, even the smallest things. After getting out of the shower and dressed for school I had time to spare so I decided to make sure everything was ready and eat some breakfast. I turned to look at my phone, after deciding to turn it on, and all I saw was a list of text messages from my mother. I normally don’t get that many texts, that early. I knew something bad must have happened. I unlocked my phone and began to read the messages. My great grandma had died; an influential person for me and my family. She died after being on hospice for 5 brutal days. Images flashed across my mind: her and I playing cards, her teaching me to cook, and her lessons, forever engraved into my soul.

now. The only thing I can do now is pray and hope. To pray that I will