Personal Narrative-Home

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’m going to go grab the truck. He just lives down the street a mile or two. Do you want to wait inside until I get back or are you ready to go now too?”

“I said out! Get your shit from the back and leave already. I’m going to be late at this rate.”

The rest of the ride was smooth and silent, at least on the outside; inside of me I felt like a soda bottle someone had shaken up long enough till it was about to explode. All the resentment I had felt for Patty had came up again on the one hour drive. I couldn’t believe her! She should’ve told me it was a dine and dash. Here I was, driving around, sticking my neck out so she can have her night of fun, and she doesn’t even bother to tell me what we’re doing.

This story is not like any other. It stands alone. Love and hate are not spoken about, yet felt through the words. This road is long with unexpected twist and turns. Words will be left unsaid but their absence will not make a difference. This is a story that was never meant to reach the light of day. Your story is now open. Terror and joy engulf your body as you read.

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.

I wanted to trust her, a guard, here to protect me. Gonzales was a squatty lady, stuffed into pressed trousers. Metal handcuffs and keys hung off of her thick brown leather belt smacking her right hip screaming authority and power. “Squat, grab your butt cheeks, bend over and spread ‘em.”

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.

“I Allen Moira, take you Cecillia to be my wife. I promise to cherish you for all my days. I vow to live for you, and do everything I can to ensure your happiness. No matter how dark things may become I promise to be your light that leads you to safety. I love you, Cecilia. Do you accept me as your husband?”

It's the smell that hits you first. As you lug open the big and awkward, reddish-brown-painted door decorated with its tired hinges, that creak like the moaning of difficult and crabby old men, a puff of the sweet, old and bad-smelling odor of last summer's straw presses from your first, slow breath into your nose. Then you detect the undertones: the hot and humid, snobby musk of animal fur and the sharp smell of old, oily metal and machinery. Soon after the smell, your eyes make up for the dim paleness of light, and you begin to make out the shapes of dusty frames of wooden stalls and poles, and the heavy chest of the loft that hangs from the ceiling.

My mind fogs up as I try to recall my doctor’s reassuring words. Memories begin to blur and blend in with each other as I try to reach out in this fog of darkness, attempting to grasp what is authentic and what is not. I need to reorganize and record my thoughts somewhere objective, somewhere I know is secure and wouldn’t be altered in any shape or form. I pick up a pencil that is placed in front of me and gradually begin to scrawl out my thoughts on a scrap piece of paper. As I progressively document every bit of detail of my memories, I begin to notice a faint murmur behind the frigid, white wall adjacent to me. I shrug it off and blindly assume that it is just my neighbours conversing with each other. Time

He’s standing there with a silence that is so unfamiliar, I am drawn to break it, but it just sits. The night is dark, the air is crisp and he leads me to a bench like the many benches we use to find comfort in.

'I had to brush the snow off of then main door's handles- which I guess was a sick reminder of how people seldom came to visit and seldom got to leave. It was an old building with what I hoped was an outdated sign. The doors were heavy and difficult to pull open, but I hadn't expected anything less. A wave of regret and cold shivers came over me as I took my first step into Winterwood. The air was dry and much hotter than the bus and for a split second I had the urge to turn around to see if it was still there. From the exact moment that I looked upon the sanitarium I had an overwhelming sense of fear. The feeling hasn't gone away since.

Drew exhaled, then said, "No. Seriously, I've gotta go. I mean you did great, but now, I must leave. Sorry. I don't mean to hurt your feelings. You do understand?"

Tonight I reclined on the couch with a bag of Doritos and channel surfed. I flipped from one rerun to another and sipped apple juice through a straw. My mind wondered to what Johaly and Francisco were doing at the club, but I figured they were dancing. Francisco was a dancing machine, and my feet throbbed just thinking about how many hours I'd spent on the dance floor this week. If I would've been on the clock, I would've got paid some serious