Personal Narrative Essay : A Short Story?

It was the year 2046 and Russia was on the verge of war with the U.S. I was running under the cover of the night in Nevada when I was blinded by the bright flash of the S.W.A.T. vehicle. I cursed under my breath and ran into a back alleyway in a city. I made my way up the fire escape but I rushed and my hand slipped off of the top rung of the ladder. As I fell I questioned whether this really was the life for me, but before I could think of an answer I was caught by one of the S.W.A.T. officers. I remember being in a helicopter and being brought to a tower. I was led to a room with a gun pointed at my back, I wanted to run and get my life over with but I knew that my job was more important than my personal wants. I saw a man his face was

I open my eyes at the sound of someone’s voice. I know that voice-- it’s…

“You all know why you are here,” the principal began, “What happened last night was unacceptable, you’re all lucky I don’t suspend you!” As the shouts of protest grew louder, the secretary poked her head into the room. “Sir, you have a conference in 30 minutes,” she said as she eyed the students. “Thank you.” He turned his attention back to the kids in front of him, “You’re lucky that you weren’t injured, but I want to hear the full story from Autumn.” The students nodded as he dismissed all but Autumn. “Autumn, you’re a good kid, and I expect to hear the truth from you.” “Yes, sir”.

Long ago, a young man walked the streets of Tokyo, begging for spare change and food. His cloths were filthy, his hair hung in front of his eyes and he hadn’t eaten for days. Unfortunately, most people ignored him or yelled at him to leave them alone. When the sun started to set he walked to the back of the ally where he lived. He sat on the old mattress and shoved his hands in his pockets, pulling out everything he had. “Five dollars and 63 cents, an arcade token, and a fake penny.” He said to himself, tossing the arcade token and fake money into the dumpster next to the mattress.

“Hello, Martin,” she said, and laughed, and pushed the stop button. “H-h-how do-o-o you know” Martin stopped and took a deep breath “my name?” She smiled and just kept looking at me. Then all of a sudden saying “you know I have been seeing you around a lot.” “ummm oh really u-h I haven’t noticed you.” I said trying to be brave. And to my lie all she did was laugh. “Wow you are very funny I saw you looking at me and I only have one question.” she leaned down to my eye level and whispered in my ear “wanna come with me?” “um w-w-wait WHAT NO WHY WOULD I DO THAT!!??” I screamed at her. She looked mad and flung straight up like a board flinging back as tall as she could and said “fine I guess this is going to be a kidnapping too!” “W-W-WAIT WHAT!!!!!!!!” I wailed and fought back but it did no good I mean I was broken for at least a week…or two.

"No use Rose, she can't hear you. She's gone...." I know it sounds like I was over her death, but I'm not. It hurt to say that. It hurt to say the truth. So, I just don't. That's why I talk to 'her'. To distract myself from the truth.

“You know that this building is like 110 stories high? If you fell you would definitely die.” “Shut up, I'm missing school for dad’s birthday so I don't want to be learning anything new today,” I explain to my annoying little brother Jake.“ Dad says that there are at least three cables holding the elevator up so we should be fine,” Jake stated. “Why does mom get to stay on the ground again; and we are going up to the 85th floor?” Jake asked for the millionth time. “Because she is placing a reservation for some fancy dinner place for dad's fiftieth birthday,” I explained to him for the millionth time.

It is a white ridge across the span of my knee. The ridges feel rough against my fingertips as I run my hand across it. Little bumps are present and it appears as if to a shooting star. There is a larger spot and then a thin ridge following behind it, all a stark contrast of color from the rest of my skin. I smile at the memorable thought associated with the scar, but also wince as I think of the pain. Now the scar seems to be a wisp of an ordeal from a past life. Even a year after I got it, it was still soft pink tissue, and each time I touched it, I felt the pain from the unfortunate day where I received such a scar.

It was cold snowy day at the jones house. It was as cold as the ice on northern sea. It was very windy and a huge blizzard began to happen. The temperature felt as if we were standing outside in Antarctica. A few kids that were outside building miniature snowmans. It felt like a winter wonderland to them. Later they started heading inside to stay warm and safe from the storm.

Wow that is really high, I thought to myself. My stomach was queasy from watching her. Maybe It wouldn’t be as bad as it seems. I’m just getting myself worked up, I thought trying to convince myself.

As we drive the dirt road passing every memory, one attracted more attention than others. This particular moment at the time was joyous, but only for me. It frightened Maggie and Mother. Why did I find so much delight in this situation? My childhood home was burning right before my eyes while the most valuable thing was inside: the quilts. The quilts were made by Grandmother. Her hands sewed every stitch by hand and every cloth used was worn by her. It was an antique work of art; it would have made a beautiful center piece in our---¨Wangero, can you believe that there are still people living in the filth,¨ Hikam says bringing me back to present time. I responded truthful,¨These people do not know any better if they knew they wouldn’t still be living in this place. They would be living in the city like us.” Hikam silently agrees. After driving on something narrower than a single lane and unpaved, we turn onto thier road. Last time I saw my sister and my mother, it was when I was leaving college--my favorite memory--which was seven years ago. As Hikam and I park in front of the shed, I take a deep breath; open the door and step on the dry dirt.

Daddy was driving us home. Three of us in the backseat and Lula, who was his favorite, in the passenger's seat.

Every morning I wake up and walk the long twenty minutes through the lower east side to the upper east side of New York to my job as a criminal defense lawyer which I was graciously given by my father, one of the two partners of the firm. Straight out of law school, I was given a job at the top rated law firms in New York. Personally I think that there were more qualified graduates that are more skilled than me that should’ve gotten the job, but I had no other options and I started my work with high hopes of success. I intend not to exaggerate, but I have been experiencing many struggles since finishing high school regarding starting my life that I was mentally not prepared to take on. I use the long walk to work to attempt to ease my thoughts before taking on new cases or winning old ones.

The last couple of minutes were thinning out and it was time to go. Of course, I had to dance to the last few seconds left of the song, but I shouldn’t have. As I was going to go and grab my jacket I went down. As I began to fall I knew that there was not going to be a good outcome. As I hit the cold, chopped up, ice, I immediately thought about my wrist to see if it was okay because I had just gotten my cast off early that week. But I realized that the pain was all in my left ankle. I quickly grabbed my ankle and was on the verge of crying. Everyone surrounded me asking if I was okay. I couldn’t stand it, everyone talking in my ear, seeing if I was okay. Clearly, I was not, I’m sitting on the ice holding my ankle like it’s a newborn baby, so fragile.

“Mom, please! don’t leave me here!” I squealed as I held her arm with an iron grip.