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Personal Narrative: Witnessing Death

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Witnessing death was something that came surprisingly easy for me. I didn’t scream, I didn’t become sick, I was oddly settled.

While driving home singings with my parents after after a sweet sixteen, disaster was the last thing on our optimistic minds. Engrossed into the melody, I was startled when my dad ran through a red light, made an illegal left turn, and jerked the car over to the side of the road. My mother and I were blinded by our enrage, we never noticed the reason for my dad’s actions until he jumped out of the car, and ran into the middle of the road.

Darkness and clouds blanketed the sky, therefore, all I could make out was the shape of a man, laying in the middle of the highway. As my dad was performing CPR in attempt to save
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