Personal Writing : A Personaltive Of Personal Narrative

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Personal Narrative

“I don’t want to do this! Please don’t make me! I’m scared!” I stammered and cried at the same time.
“OH MY!” I gasped. Then everything went as black as the dead of night. …

One day earlier The warm, windy August night before my critical day, my Mom took me out to Spiros Pizza. When I walked through the enormous, fancy glass doors to Spiros, the aroma of Italian pizza dough filled the air. When my hot, melty, sizzling pizza arrived, I began gobbling it like a turkey. The pizza was a greasy mess that lathered my face from chin to forehead; I’m surprised I didn’t break out all over my face. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t know it was the last time I would ever be able to eat there.

“I’m scared for tomorrow,” I murmured as I was stuffing pizza in my mouth. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. It’s just going to be like short nap. Probably 20 minutes,” my mom said. My mom is a kind hearted woman who thinks about other people before herself.
“I know but it’s like...You know...um.”
“Fear of the unexpected?” My mom questioned.
“Yea,” I replied. Unlike my mom, I am an outgoing daredevil that loves adventures.
“It’s normal to be nervous,” she explained.
“Ok,” I resigned. The next morning

The next morning I woke up to a mouth as dry as

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