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Personal Narrative: Nancy Ryles Elementary School

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“Give me the ball!” a voice threatened, but I continued to dribble the ball. “Hey! Did you hear me? I want the ball!” the voice screamed. As I whirled around to examine what the commotion was, an iron fist smashed into my right eye, leaving me incapacitated. Jonathan Morris gifted me with a black eye. “I didn’t hear you. I would’ve given you the ball if I did,” I sobbed. This physical altercation at Nancy Ryles Elementary School best described the first moments I experienced with Jonathan. At five years old, my adolescent mind thought his reign of terror was going to last for an eternity, but one day, a call changed it all. It all started in the classroom. I was in the back, sitting away from Jonathan. Ring! The telephone rang. Mrs. Bargmann, …show more content…

Maximoff’s transformation from a sweet middle-aged woman to an authoritarian dictator. I followed the audiologist into her underlit dungeon. In the middle, a chair with a brownish shade resembling feces became my throne, as I was forced to place my buttocks on it. A spotlight shined on me like a musician on a stage that is ready to perform a solo; however, my spotlight flickered like a dying star. I want my papa, I lamented to myself, feeling too terrified to squeal a single word. As I fiddled with my hands, the audiologist approached me with a colorful assortment of wires and decorated me like I was a Christmas tree. Two blue wires thrust into my ears like a slithering snake. A red wire clipped onto my plaid shirt like an American flag pin. A black wire with a red button placed into my brittle hands. My deafening heartbeats and her decorations left me looking and sounding like a ticking time bomb. After decorating me, she turned away, shutting the door behind her and leaving me stranded. I felt like a hostage, not a patient. “Please press the button when you hear a sound,” a voice ordered from the …show more content…

“I don’t know. I can’t hear you,” I wailed. In addition to the ringing in my ears, the staticky intercom sounded like the first audio recording from 1860. “Are we done yet?” I whined, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” “Quit your whining,” she hissed, “Just a few more words. Please say the word, stranger.” “Danger?” I wept. Dr. Maximoff shook her head in disappointment, and then, she got up from her curule chair. The bright lights pierced through the cracks as the door slowly crept to an open. When she removed my restraints, I darted to my parents like Romeo rushing to see Juliet. However, my freedom was short-lived when she got tensed and stared straight into my eyes and my soul. “Steven, you have hearing impairments in both of your ears,” she quavered. The room grew silent, and the Earth stopped moving. Breaking the silence, Dr. Maximoff roamed over to her desk and picked up a device that looked like a handicap from “Harrison Bergeron.” The world got louder when she placed the “handicaps” on my ears. My anxiety disappeared, but depression struck me like a fastball. I left the premises, and my parents followed after thanking “The Handicapper

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