Personal Narrative Fiction

Robert, the security guard, drew his gun, took a deep breath, and headed down a shadowy corridor full of plastic cobwebs, fake blood, and recorded screams. It was Robert's worst nightmare, a real-life killer on the loose in Cohan's Haunted House. At least one person was dead, and behind any one of these doors might lay another victim -or worse, the killer - waiting for another victim.

He was confused—he thought he had heard rumors that the government had destroyed the last of the organized rebel groups. The man spoke again. “We can stand together, work together, and you won’t have to be oppressed and overworked any longer.” He paused to pull down his bandana and smile. There was a clear line across his nose where the exposed grey skin met the cleaner, whiter skin. “We have a place for you at our base. You can help us, guard our base, and in return you will receive no less than any of the rest of us. We just need some more supplies.” He nodded at the door and covered his face with the

From the roof of the car a man appeared and from the side an old woman approached the car. The old woman was an informer. I had to kill both of them. Suddenly, from the other side a shot fired and hit me. Taking off my cap, I placed it over the muzzle of my rifle. I Then pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately a bullet pierced the center of the cap. I slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, I dropped my left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments I let the

An elderly man was indefatigable trying desperately to return his dead wife’s severed legs back to her torso while she clung to him helplessly, her arms draped around his neck. Most of the victims had some portion of their flesh burnt away, giving off a foul stench into the night’s air that would have normally made me revoltingly gage if my other senses weren’t so overwhelmed. Skin was split as if hacked open by a butcher’s cleaver. Bones were broken—shattered to a point that would’ve suggested that they were made to be as brittle as egg shells. Large splinters of timber embedded and piercing through their torsos, liberating end-trails and viscera that hung loosely from the large, open

I uncap the red marker. The smell of the permanent ink is intoxicating. I leaned over, marking the body’s left hand with a dark square. I recap the marker, masking some of the stench. That’s the third one today and it’s not even lunch. I stand, eyeing the corpse, watching to see if any blood would spill. None. I turn, dust flying throughout the dark warehouse. I slipped out of the hole in a wall leading to the alleyway.

They room was crammed with dozens of bodies. The ground trembled, the walls shook, and debris began falling from the ceiling. Many shrieked and cried as they listened to the chaos surrounding

The hand of the man were shaking so badly, the gun slipped right out of them. It landed softly on my the body, then fell on to the concrete, but he wasn't watching the gun. Or even the body. He was watching his own pale hands, covered with scarlet blood.You've wonder why he could hurt you? A small sob worked its way out of his throat and he crumpled to his knees, not taking his eyes off of his hands. His bloody hands.

It was past midnight and the emergency services were on call to a factory explosion in the northern Springburn area. The whole building was engulfed in flames. Several charred bodies had been thrown from the building by the explosion and now lay in large, indescribable lumps in the car park.

“Although I tried,” Ed said as he picked up the empty box. “I never learned how to use the thing myself.” “ I would try from time to time, but I finally just gave up, and put in this old box year’s ago.” “I would like for you to take it with you on your journey, who knows, maybe it will work for you.”

“Gene, have you seen my diamond earrings?” I ask over the running water of his shower.

"L-Leo?" He whispered out as he climbed frantically onto the bed. He knocked the katana off the bed as he lifted the limp turtle up. Blood soaked through the sheets of the mattress from the deep gashes that covered their older brother's arms, the thick crimson substance dripped down onto Raph's plastron as he clutched Leo to his chest. "Donnie! GET IN HERE!" He cried out, tears streamed from his eyes. His fingers lightly grazed the split skin, the blood had clotted into a large puddle.

I gazed through the window, watching the manicured buildings disappear into rickety, charred houses. My eyes opened in bewilderment as I examined the broken windows and trashed cars. Within the span of a second,

As I was thinking that, I turned around to see a man face down on the shore. I cautiously tried to get the figure’s attention, however I got no response. I got closer, figuring he was most likely dead due to the amount of blood loss he was portraying. Quickly I noticed the man had been shot in the back. The entry hole was dark red and lumpy, due to the clotting of the blood.

Now all that remained were the signal lights shattered on the floor, and the cables hanged from the wooden posts, like the weeds that hanged from the light posts. “The base is just to the right of that intersection!”

Careful not to make a noise, though it wouldn’t matter if I did, I crept over to my victim sprawled across the floor. One, two, three. I pounded a nail into my target’s head. The satisfying crack of the skull filled the room. Around me, a pool of blood began to form. Trapping, encasing, stopping me from moving. The thick liquid moved with a purpose, though I doubt it knew what that was. Slowly, then all at once, the color drained from his face, like watching the credits of a movie fade into the screen. Gone. Until next time, but, unlike a movie, he didn’t have a next time. Sirens wailed in the distance. They’d be here soon, but it didn’t matter. They were always a couple seconds behind me and that’s all the time I needed to escape.