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Personal Narrative-Switch

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As I look up at the burnt orange sky I feel like I could forget where I am and what I am. I love watching the sky, during the day, at night, at sunrise and sunset there isn’t one time the sky disappoints me. As I walk home from college and watch the sunset morph I can’t help but feel blessed, everything still isn’t perfect but it’s going to be.
I stretch at the starting line and take in the scene around me, the green of the trees, the sea of blue above me and the sea of colour on the people. There’s a crowd of smiles and the atmosphere is buzzing. I hear the gun and like a tidal wave I’m swept away and lost in a crowd of athletes, I’m not an athlete but I promised myself November of last year I’d lose the weight and run. I look to …show more content…

I'm almost home. As I walk through the valley of chain fences I listen to the never ending static of TVs and the scream of the dogs. I round the corner and look at the concrete palace called home.
I open my eyes in a daze and for a second I think I feel a tingle in my legs; I look down immediately and take in the disgusting sight of plastic. Four years since the Boston bombings, four years I’ve continuously dreamt about the day that led me to lose everything. My legs, my wife, my kids. I allow my bloodshot eyes to follow a fly to the grime covered window, I see a deep pink streaming through. I heave myself to my feet and force the alien plastic to cooperate. I half close my blind, just in time to see them.
My mother stands on the driveway, her size doubled by her full body dress flapping in the heavy wind. I turn the deep pink of the sky. I hug her and push her through the door. I ignore the pain that I can see in her large golden eyes and check the window to see who saw. She needs to remember who is now leading the …show more content…

I hear a clap of thunder and slam my book shut. My Mom jumps, I tell her to stay here. I go to the kitchen, she’s screaming at me, I don’t care. I walk out the front door and I feel the first drop of rain hit my head. I pause and look up toward the sky: the sky doesn’t care about what I am or what I do. I run to his house and twist the worn knob of his door, I’m not stopped. I open the door to find him in the kitchen, a look of surprise on his face he goes to yell but is stopped by the cold stainless steel piercing his abdomen. I take in the stale stench of his room and the vision of his helpless large body hit the cold concreted floor. I walk to the door, lock it and close it. I hit an icy wall or rain and let the pure water trickle down me. I hear the cries of my mother but I cannot help but smile. One less set of unrelenting predators eyes to stare into, one less rumbling mouth for our eardrums to beat

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