Mission Trip Narrative

Limbs creaking, I slowly stepped out of the minivan which was driving my church group to Staten Island for a mission trip. Scanning the area, I saw something unbelievable. What was that? Befuddled, I did a double, then a triple take to confirm I wasn’t just having a hallucination. I wasn’t; it was no illusion. She was an angel- with exquisite, electric blue eyes and the skin tone of a Greek goddess. As she walked towards me, time slowed to a crawl, and the saxophone part from “Careless Whisper” began to blast in my head. My eyes darted left and right; my pulse pounded with the force of a Jedi; my hands dripping in sweat. Brimming with naive confidence, I puffed out my bony, pre-pubescent chest, and seductively wet my chapped lips. I looked up, eyebrows arched mysteriously. Wait. Where did she go? Laughter filled the air. Turning around, I saw her laughing hysterically at a joke my friend had just told her. My arrogant mirage was shattered; my hope, gone. Why would she ever want to talk to …show more content…
Chatting with my friends, I spotted her standing alone. I sucked in a deep breath and shuffled towards her. All of a sudden, “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias started playing in my head. Abruptly, I was standing right next to her. “Um, hello?” she said. Unfortunately for me, at this point I was locked in some sort of near-catatonic stupor, so I was pretty much incapable of answering. I managed to stammer out, “Hey, what are you DOING?” I shouted the word “doing” in her face, showering her in a soft sheen of saliva. Wrinkling up her nose, she regarded me with the distaste of week-old unrefrigerated milk. Following a few more sentences of excruciating awkwardness, she told me, “Um, I’m gonna go talk to my friends.” Embarrassed, devastated, and defeated, I slumped down against a wall. My hope, my happiness, my optimism-dead. This girl was not gnawing at my mind anymore; she was devouring my