Personal Narrative: My Home

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I awoke to the sound of the baby monitor crackling as a voice soothed my firstborn child. As I moved to change my position, my arm brushed over my wife. I got out of bed and rushed to the baby’s room, all the while thinking I should have never taken those greens. I didn’t believe she’d do it, after all it was only a handful of greens. I thought it was just an empty threat. What was I going to do? How was I going to tell my wife, who didn’t even know about the threat? Will I ever get to see the baby ever again? I didn’t even have a chance to name her yet. By the time I had reached the baby’s room, they were both gone. Chapter one. 19 years later…. “I have to get back!”, I said to myself. If I don’t get back in time, who knows where she will take me this time. The last time she found out that I had got out, she brought me here. At least there we had a fireplace, a door, stairs, more than one window,etc… But here, here we do not have any source of warmth, no doors, no stairs, and only one big window that serves as a door for my mother, and an escape route for me. Except, I live in a tower. Mother comes to me at meal times or for lessons but does not stay full time. So because there are no stair, my hair serves as a rope to pull my mother up to the window, and because it’s finally long enough, I am able to lower myself down also. My hair is now twice as long as the tower is high so as I approach the tower, I toss my hair up so that it catches on the hook above the window.

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