The Stamp Act-Personal Narrative

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The air smelled like chestnuts and fresh fallen snow, and all was silent as I walked along the cold streets of Boston, until I heard one scream that started it all. I turned around, at first confused as to where the yell came from. A minute later, I identified the source of the scream. Well, I should say, screams. I raced to the first person of familiarity that I could find, my Father’s good friend, Gerard. “Gerard, what happened?” I asked him. Gerard turned around, and I was surprised by the look of anger on his face. “Parliament has passed the Stamp Act, a direct tax placed us. They are making us pay for every piece of paper that we want or need.” He said, his face hardening after every word. “Oh my,” I said, “I must go to tell Father and Mother...”…show more content…
I didn’t know what I would do without Mother; she was my rock, the only thing that was constant in my life. She was my generous advisor, unmoving and strong. I pushed these thoughts away from my head; that was in the past, I couldn’t change it, and it could never be undone. Finally reaching my destination, I sprinted up the front steps, grabbed the brass knocker, and slammed it onto the giant wooden door. The door creaked open, and an annoyed voice spoke through the crack. “Adi, I’m busy right now, please come later.” The door was starting to close before I spoke, “Elle,” I said, my voice cracking, “please, Mother has died, and this act has been passed, and Father doesn’t know what to do, and I don’t know what to do.” The door flung open, and Elle started running in the direction of our house. I ran after her, and when we reached the house, Elle pushed the door open, and yelled, “Father? Father? I’m here!” When she finally found my father, sitting at the table, head in his hands, she embraced him from behind. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Girls, sit down, we have matters to discuss.” He
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