Personal Narrative-Home

"You can't keep holding on to stuff like this, James." Natasha sighed, slipping a delicate hand through her hair. "It's not healthy."

“I’m going to break you.” She said. “Every single bone in your body and once you recover, I’ll do it again if I have to.”

I don’t get why my sister is sending me here, sending me to rehab. Its not like I have a problem. Ok, I have a slight problem but that doesn’t mean I need to go to rehab for it. She thinks it will help me “get better”. I get so annoyed with her when she says that. All she ever says to me now is do this and you’ll get better, try harder and maybe things would work out. Try harder. You don’t think I’ve tried my whole life to fix the things that are wrong with me. I have. I fought every single day and nothing ever changed. I’m still the same way I was since I was little. I’m still messed up. I know I am but she can’t honestly think that rehab is going to help can she? I highly doubt it.

Out the window and down the fire escape, twenty floors was nothing at this point, and considering police would have to get here and go all the way up to the top, I was in the clear. As I slide down the ladder to the ground, I heard the sirens pulling up in the front, perfect timing, I walked out the alley, taking off my hoodie and slowly joining the crowd forming behind the cop cars. “The best place to hide is in plain sight,” something grandpa told me that I'll never forget, though considering I was a college student with a backpack in New York, blending in was a given. Making my way to the side of the crowd, trying to catch a word of what the officers were saying. “Suspect, average height, weight, witness says all they saw was a shadow going out the window.

I thought back to two days ago with Matt and how badly I had treated him. I mean you can't blame me right? He totally deserved it because of what he did to me.

As Glenn sipped on the champagne he had grabbed to help wash down the handful of uppers he had just taken, he quietly mingled with everyone in the hall, doing his best not to bring attention to himself. Everything was going good too… that was until he spotted Mr. Bojangles slinking his little furry way through the room. “Son of a bitch,” Glenn whispered to himself in utter disbelief. “I’d recognize that wretched fur ball anywhere.” And, Glenn should have recognized the cat; he had stared all day, every day at the stupid feline’s pictures splattered all over Peggy’s desk for the past dozen or so years.

My head was spinning, the kind of spinning you'd get after you've had a little too much to drink. Someone yelled from across the room, the little voice awoke at the back of my mind and said ever so casually “Don't worry, it's probably another nobody.” I shrugged my shoulders and carried on walking, inching my way closer and closer to the door weaving my way through the jungle of people, I was determined to do one thing and one thing only. Get outside.

Once again my location had changed. This time I was on an open terrace. I was still decked out in my ancient Middle Eastern garb. Adeline was next to me. I couldn’t move though. When I tried to move my arms up to brush the hair away from her face, my arm wouldn’t move. I moved my head around. I saw that all of my ligaments had been slashed. The wounds were still fresh. The sultan was on his knees begging for his life. King Rashad, my brother in this part of my dream, was sitting on his throne in front of the sultan. My brother looked at me. His face turned into a sad battle of emotion. He looked back at the sultan who was on his knees between two guards. They both had large blades at the end of long shafts. The ruler started to cry. Rage filled

Mama shoved me under Daddy's church desk, and laid on top of me with her hand over my mouth. I broke free long enough to say, "Daddy's flying away, Mama."

My trembling hands grace the alien piano keys, and I feel their coolness melt into my fingertips. Slowly, I feel myself playing my warm-up scale and listen as the gentle pressing of the keys emits clear tones that cut through the silence of the performance room. My hands, which seem now to have a mind of their own, descend the scale,and I sense my racing heart calm. I’ve played this song over and over again for months. . . I can do this. My lungs fill up with the air of a deep breath and I place both hands on my lap, patiently waiting for the judge’s voice to instruct me to begin.

I while later I come around the final turn that lead to the pack Hospital, it's past dusk now. The hospital itself looks like regular ol' human hospital, they've even got ambulances, but there ambulances are way more heavy duty then the regular ones, which is understandable. I look down at my mate, he slowly opens his honey collard eyes, As he does, slightly whimpers. "Hey. Wake up babe we're here" say softly.

Abbey Bominable rubbed her eyes, stretching as the warm sunlight washed over her through the apartment window. As she brushed some wisps of hair from her face, she noticed Heath whispering something very quietly. Brow furrowing, she sat up, seeing that Heath had brought their baby boy into bed with them. Heath was trying to get Icer to smile, something the little baby had recently started doing. However, Icer just stared at his father curiously and tried to stick his fingers into his mouth. Abbey smiled, stroking Icer's head lovingly.

Kathryn, my enchantress, oh how rereading through our messages brings nostalgia to all of our preceding periods of excruciatingly voluptuous intercourse, or, rather, as close as we can get for now. Each word you spout is so delicately plucked from my cravings it's astounding we aren't the same person, you're adept at manipulating my mood at your inclination. Leaving me aroused at a moments notice, or illumination the dingiest of evenings with your sentiment pampering my each and every concern, fear, and worry. I have far surpassed the point of being merely fortunate for what I have, there isn't enough wailing I could do in order to display my gratification for you. There's not a moment that passes that lacks mention of you, whether it's be

“Joan, do you ever… do you ever get the feeling that we’ve… I don’t know. Missed out on something? A life we should’ve lived, should’ve been able to have. Something better than this?” Mark lifted his shovel from the rubble, sweeping it towards a ragged tear in the side of the squat concrete office building he stood within. Joan looked up from the aged maps laid out on a recently righted table and swept her gaze through the cracked-concrete lined hole in the wall, and sighed.

“Forget what I just said,” Siegfried Hummel added, “Anyway, since you now have my attention, what’s the story thus far?”