Personal Narrative: The Hallucinatory Day

Light rushes through a gap in the curtain flooding into my eyes. Irritated, I roll over onto my side, covering my face with an old pillow that smelt like cheese puffs. Consequently I’m itchy all over, must of left the door open and let the bed bugs bite. Crawling out of bed right leg, searching for the floor to regain reality and get out of bed. Ordinarily my eyes tried adjusting to the bright

I had never smelled a corpse before today, but now it fills the air like poison, as cruel to the mind as it is to the nose. It’s pungent, rotten, and sickly sweet, the smile on an assassin’s face before he kills your soul. I don’t want to open my eyes to see the source, but it must be nearby, as I feel his cold skin, roughened by the last few months that probably made him grateful of his death, against my own. My eyelids are heavy, begging me not to lift them, not to move at all, to lie there until God takes pity on me too, and lets me go.

I could hear my breathing as if it was a voluntary action. As I saw my mom car come screeching into the driveway, she rushed out, I ran up to her as I tearfully asked, "Is he okay?" With hesitancy and a sorrow- filled voice she said, "He's dead," I screamed over and over again, "No, no, not my brother! Anyone but him!" and I broke down crying, I felt as if I was paralyzed, I felt like I was suffocating; as if a giant hand was clamped around my heart, I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, I wanted for it to not be

When I wake up I see a deathly, pale, colourless body. I check to see if she is breathing. Nothing. As much as I tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from my throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water started falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. I check to see if my mother left anything for me like some food or jewels so I could always remember her. I see a white piece of paper in her

The end of an era is now upon many current and former West Virginia University students. After the 2017 spring semester there will be no more clanking of the heating system, no more puke in showers, no more shattered windows in the breeze way and ultimately no more Arnold Hall.

The year of 2003 my family had lost six people. My grandma, uncle, great grandpa, and one of my cousins, everyone seemed a little empty. As the day went on my parents, along with a few other family members started warming up. I could hear my grandpa’s obnoxious laugh from the other room and my demented teenage cousins wrestling upstairs. The timer for the turkey finally dinged letting us know the meat was ready to eat. My cousin Jessica and I set up all the food as well as drinks; everyone filled their plates as high as they could sat down to feast. I of course made a heaping plate of hot food but I was not able eat much; I felt so sleepy and nauseous. Instead of enjoying quality time with my family I retreated to the couch and slept until it time to leave.

The mouthwatering smell of roasting turkey & sizzling ham only adds to the medley of heavenly aromas wafting throughout the entire house as I step out from behind the closed door of my room. My kitchen, spacious, yet always felt cramped; like a can of sardines. I began to maneuvered my 5 year old self through the dozens of friends and family members. As squeezed between people the odor of pungent onions and jalapeño, they began bringing tears to my eyes much like my little sister when the Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercial came on. I finally made it through

It was 5 A.M. and my thoughts were everywhere. I kept tossing and turning, desperately trying to fall asleep, but knowing I couldn't. I finally slipped out of bed, carefully so that I wouldn't wake up Olivia, and proceeded to walk down the stairs. I sat down on the living room couch and exhaled deeply as I stared into the sunroof.

I hummed along to the radio that always played in the kitchen as I cooked. My body move back and forth to the catchy tune while I iced a lemon pound cake. As the pots on the stove bubbled and spit steam, the timer started buzzing on the counter top. The turkey was ready, and I couldn’t wait to see how it looked. After baking it all night, I was finally about to pull the big bird out of the oven.

Kaboom! In the matter of seconds a fun time can turn into a panic of terror. Looking around, seeing the sheer excitement on everyone's face. Not one of us had second guessed this idea. It was completely silent, not one cricket chirped, in the dried out grass clearing. Although it is a peaceful little place, it's not going to be so soothing and tranquil any longer. Now came the roar of the explosion, echoing through the wood. A violent blast of burning hot air hit my face. Shrapnel of glass bottle pierces my skin. Gunpowder and debris from the oak wood tree dusted my lips, having a bitter disgusting flavor. A blinding flash of light dazed me, white spots began to spread around my line of sight. The sounds of laughter at the campfire, cars passing by, and the wind whistling through the trees suddenly all went quiet, but a rising tone of a broken amplifier replaced all the other noises, causing us to become disorientated. Not even being able to hear the crackling of leaves beneath our feet, over the insane ringing.

I slipped beneath the surface of the pool of grain, my hands sticking straight up over my head as I held my breath, preparing for death. I was preparing for the world to go silent. This was the exact situation my father had warned me about, and I had fallen victim to it despite that. Fourteen years old as of two months ago, and death had already come for me. Or so I thought. I felt firm, callused hands grasp my own, plucking me from my grave. The relief was wonderful. I drank the air in, filling my burning lungs with as much as possible. I almost laughed out of sheer happiness – until my eyes met my father’s.

She dropped me on the floor and the fear sank deep into me. I am not afraid of dying but this would not be dying this, this would be toture. As I lay stuck to the floor, the flies began to gather around me, they feasted on my flesh and as my body began to decay, I contemplated my life. I was born burning, my whole body was on fire, a melted goo pumped with e numbers and colouring then I was forced onto an artificial paper body to cool into a apple green glass-like ball. I met her when we put into the sweet jar, she was the love of my life, we spent hazy summer day sitting and talking and falling in love until the day when the sweets where tipped out and she was taken. The only thing that meant something, the voice I could hear in a sea of sound shouting for attention and now she's gone. I remember the pain, my family, my one true love, sacrificed for a cheap sugar rush. Was it worth it? Was it the pain and torment? The insanity I delved into praying to die, for this misery to end and even in my dreams she still screams for my help, I was her final prayer and I just stood by and watch her die. I can feel my body being eaten away, I've counted five nights of this agony but soon it'll all be over; I've descreased considiraly and it'll only be a matter of time

At around two I woke up when the afternoon sun threatened to burn a hole in my head. I felt good. That was the best sleep I had enjoyed in a long time. I sat up and looked around for my friend, but he wasn’t anywhere: Wasn’t on the pillow at the foot of my bed, nor was he trespassing on my face, and so for a brief moment I thought that maybe he was a hallucination caused by my extreme tiredness. As I considered this, the pop of a toaster made me jolt with surprise.

I let out a soft sigh, still unfocused for school the next day. I placed the polaroid I had taken from the fair carefully onto my bedside table. I could use this as a tool of recognition at school tomorrow. I grabbed my comforter and tucked myself into bed, with two pillows in my embrace. As my consciousness dwindled down, my mind escaped into a vivid dream. Sleeping allowed me to liberate myself from the agony of trudging through my daily life.

           I ambled into my mother’s room with the knowledge that no matter how much time I took, no one would care. The bright white cotton sheets of my mother’s cot contrasted incredibly with the shiny black of the life support systems. The doctors called the cause of the coma overdosing on sake alcohol; I called it shock from the suicide of my father, done in this very room with a butcher’s knife. No one knew why, but everyone saw the decline in my mother’s health. Now, all that’s left of her is a withered shell of the charismatic woman I used to know. Her once vibrant cheeks had been replaced with drawn-in pouches,