Personal Narrative

Superior Essays
My eyes snapped open and my heart was beating like I had woken up from a nightmare. Immediately, I could tell something wasn't right, not at all. I rushed to the mirror on morning sea legs, clutching the mirror's edge so tightly, I was sure it would break. I stared blankly at my blurry reflection. My shirt, it... was green. I persisted to the window and yanked open the curtain. For as far as I could see (which wasn't very far), the view from my bedroom window was... green

Suddenly, I was rushing to the bathroom and I spilled everything I had eaten in the past three days. I remained hovering over the toilet, breathing heavily, squeezing my eyes shut. My lifeless hair plastered my face and I was shivering.

I had never been one to get sick,
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My head pounded and my heart ached, or it might have been the other way around but I couldn't tell.

I tried opening my eyes again, but I was practically hungover and all light burned my eyes. I shut them again.

I must've sat there for a good five minutes, closing my eyes and covering my face to provide darkness before I mustered enough energy to make my way to the sink and splash water on my face. I told myself to breathe, in, out, in, out. I looked into the mirror and put on my glasses, which I always inconveniently left on the bathroom counter. My face was pale, my hair mangled, my eyes sunken. I needed a shower.

And at the time, my brain hadn't made a connection as to what happened that night and to what happened the next morning, and it wouldn't until much later.

Thankfully, by the time I got back to my room, no one had been awake yet. I shut off my ever-annoying alarm, which I had neglected to do earlier in my discovery and grabbed a random outfit from the bottom of my
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"Watch your attitude, young lady!"

I groaned as I pushed backward from the table.

"Looks like I won't eat today."

I stomp out of the kitchen, grab my backpack sitting by the door and leave before I can hear the protests of the twins about not getting their bacon.

As always, I walk to Piper's house so we can go to school together. I don't have a car because I'm saving up for my dream one. My dad offered me his old truck, but I passed. That thing was about as old as he was.

But I enjoyed walking because I got to observe the quiet of the morning.

This morning, in particular, was quite one to observe. I never realized how green nature was, and it made my head spin. The semi-wilted grass in my neighbor's front lawn, the weeds sprouting from between sidewalk cracks, the few leaves on treetops that have yet to turn darker and fall away.

It was nauseating.

I walk up the creaky steps to Piper's massive house. Every bit of it was worth more than the clothes on my back, from the eggshell paint imported from France to the black sand windows from Iceland.

They could never get around to fixing those creaky

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