Personal Narrative Essay: The Boy Who Cried Wolf

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There was no way I was crazy, right? I mean I know exactly what I saw. I'm sure others saw them too, but why is no one saying anything? Stupid question, Donnie boy. Obviously, they are afraid of coming off as crazy, if not just simply afraid. But I've got to tell someone. Who? I have no doubt my mother would have me committed if I were to tell her what was happening. Should I go to the police? The FBI? Men in Black? Yeah, right.

The story of Chicken Little pops into my head. But as far as I could tell the sky was about to fall and there was no one I could tell. Actually, with my history, The Boy Who Cried Wolf is perhaps a better analogy. I've seen things in the past that I probably should have kept to myself. But this was different. I knew

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