Personal Narrative: The Color Black

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I wake up in the same pitch black shack that I have been living in since I was four years old. No light was ever shown. Ever since I was four I was treated differently. Everyone was separated by a tattoo with all different colors. Some people had a red tattoo,some blue and some were white but for me I was the color black. While my mom was pregnant with me she and my dad got into a car accident. They had to do an emergency C-section. The doctors said I was blessed to be alive but in reality I was cursed. I shouldn’t have survived. I escaped death. At the end of my parents funeral, my Aunt gave me a necklace that was once my mothers. The necklace could open and inside was a family portrait of us so I could remember what they looked like and to never forget them. As the years went on my color faded. I used to be purple since my mom was blue and my dad was red. When they died my Aunt took me in. She had a orange tattoo. I was considered an outlaw, so my Aunt raised me as a baby and then put me in the shack in her backyard to hide me from the government when I was only four years old. I have been teaching myself how to write, read, and basically everything I need to know. My Aunt never opens the door just in case someone would see me. So she slides food, water, clothes and books everyday under the shack to keep me alive and well. This is how my life…show more content…
If I was too loud I could get caught. Most of the time it is so quiet that my thoughts are so loud you would think there is a person talking in here next to me. I usually read but I don’t really feel like reading the Odyssey for the 50th time. As I was lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even realize the backyard door was open. I could here fast walking steps towards the shack. It must be my Aunt handing me new clothes. I was wrong. Next thing you know it opened. The door was open. What is going on? I see a light but it’s too bright that I couldn’t even open my
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