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Personal Narrative-Talkie-Original Writing

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I literally left them alone for five minutes. Five god damned minutes. Just shows how they can't take care of themselves. I come back to the car to find Alex in the car, passed out, like I left him, with a sticky note pasted to his forehead. I rip the thing off and march back inside to the casino concierge desk. I tap my foot, trying to be patient, and wait for the line before me to file out. My patience was wearing. Finally, I get to the front. "How may I help you?" the women at the desk asks me, sounding way to perky for any normal person. "I lost my glasses, can you read this for me?" I lie, irritated, and hand her the paper. She looks at me oddly, the print is probably really big, but is quick to look back down, "1531 Baker Street, you have an hour," she looks back up to …show more content…

And hissed. Loudly. I hit the wall, not exaggerating, a single centimeter above his petty head. He looks at me wide-eyed and pulls out a walkie-talkie in one hand and a gun in the other. I just made things really difficult. I sigh inwardly. "We have a breach, code 17, I repeat---," he screams in the machine. While he screams into the walkie-talkie, I sidestep and grab his arm, he shoots, hitting the wall, making a clean hole through the drywall. I elbow him in the jaw, he kicks my legs, sweeping them underneath me. I fall and hit my back, he grabs the knife and swoops down, I roll, barely missing my blade. He lifts up, planning on swinging down, but I roll back directly under him and swing my leg up, hitting him in the crotch. Ahh, that probably hurt. And it sure looked like it. He rolls over, collapsing on the ground clutching his precious 'jewels.' I roll my eyes, pick up my knife, and slit his throat. Sticky blood covers my hand. I take his shirt and wipe it off the blood, I hate the smell. Now, how to get into that room? I shrug and do the most simple thing possible. Knock. And imagine my surprise when someone actually answers the door with reasonable

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