Personal Narrative Analysis

My wrists had been slit and tied together, bound behind my back. I was in a small, dark space and muffled vibrations were traveling through the floor from the party taking place downstairs. The only light source was dim and came through the slight slits in the door that was directly in front of me. I felt something brush up against my back. This made me jump before I realized that they were just coats. This was when I assumed that I was in a closet. I had no idea how I had gotten here. Every so often, a drop of blood from the slits in my wrists would slip down, making a long trail over my palm and then would splash into the puddle that was slowly forming there. It was almost mesmerizing. I started counting the seconds between the drips. One…two…three…I could feel myself getting dizzier and dizzier every time another drop hit the floor. I heard a door open and voices were heard. I tried to focus on their …show more content…
It was masculine and had a slight British accent, the kind of accent that has been lessened over time by being surrounded with people equipped with a Northern American accent. “It adds a slight macabre touch to my otherwise routine job” the second voice responded. It was masculine as well, but deeper than the first speaker and without the accent. “and it knocks them out quicker.” The sound of them all laughing followed and I heard a third voice join in. “Peter, you scoundrel.” the third speaker purred to the second, presumably Peter. This one was feminine in an obvious way. It was high and tinkling, like a bell, but had dark undertones of seduction that were harder to detect. It was getting harder to pull my thoughts together. I looked down at the puddle of my blood that had grown quite large in the past few minutes. I felt a wave of nausea pass over me and sat down with a thud. “And down she goes.” said the girl, with a gleeful, almost maniacal,