Personal Narrative-Homework Union

Decent Essays
“Yes you do—you’re only pretending,” he said, pushing me. “You did too,” I said, under my breath. “What’o you mean?” He stopped pushing me, spinning me to face him. “You almost killed him, too. You put Fish in there.” He wasn’t going to tell anyway, but that put an end to it. The bus arrived soon thereafter, and when he sat down next to Michael they started talking about Mario, not Sam. I found my seat-mate Ava and plopped down next to her. “My dad says we’re not going to get any snow this winter,” she told me as soon as I sat. “He says it’s because of some science things. That we’re not going to be able to ski.” “I don’t know how to ski,” I reminded her, and the conversation turned to other things as conversations between young girls…show more content…
I pledge allegiance. Jonah was in the first row with his friends, and I was further back with mine. To the flag. Mrs. Henley’s hair bounced happily on her head. Of the United States of America. When we had finished and returned to our seats Mrs. Henley waited for the chatter to stop and began the day’s lesson with math. December was Subtraction Month, so Mrs. Henley wrote several numbers in large hand on the front board. 5-3 and 2-0 and 3-2 and 8-5. “Okay, class, take out your notebooks and we’ll start with a little challenge. We talked about subtraction yesterday, so let’s see if we can remember what to do. Remember, if you can’t do it in your head, draw out circles for the first number and cross out the number of circles the second number says to. The first student to get all four right will get this little SpongeBob.” She held up a plush SpongeBob keychain, and we all rushed to pull out our papers and begin. In red colored pencil I rushed at the subtraction. “Five minus three is three less then five,” I said softly to myself, and counted backwards on my hand. Two. The next one, two. And…show more content…
Ava missed, and in the seconds intervening the scene unfolded as if in slow motion before my eyes. The pointed bolt, it’s false feathers guiding it’s course, parted the darkening fog as it tore through the air. A whistling sound could be heard before the wet thump of the arrow colliding with young flesh. The head of the arrow pierced Gloria’s thigh with a sickening sound not unlike that of a rabbit pounding it’s foot against marshy soil. Her face contorted in agony, her hand unclasped around the arrows, and she fell sideways, her knees buckling, against the tree. Tears rushed to her eyes and she released a blood boiling banshee shriek. Her mother stood at the doorway a second later, and in no time at all was bounding across the frozen December earth to her daughter’s side in stocking feet. “Gloria! Gloria are you alright!” Blood was seeping from the wound and congealing on the leg of her pants. “Ava. Jane. Inside, now.” We obeyed. The mother lifted her daughter into her arms and rushed past us into the house. Inside she carefully removed the bolt and them her daughter’s pants, dabbing peroxide on a cotton swab and laying it over the wound. She tore her shirt into thick strips and wrapped them tightly around Gloria’s leg. Blood poured from the puncture, soaking the new
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