Personal Narrative Fiction

Throughout the entire night, I woke up with feverish bursts time and time again. I dreamt of death. My mother and father’s bony skulls were glinting at me through the blackness. I replayed the same scene over and over again: the persistent screaming in the background as a dull buzzing sounded beside my ears. And then the sound of gunshots exploding in the air as raiders crowded into our room. Their skin was imprinted with skull and dagger tattoos I watched them cock a gun at my family’s wide-eyed and shivering faces. I put my fist into my mouth to cover an incoming sob, closing my eyes as the next fatal shot thundered. And I watched, frozen in my place underneath the dresser, as their blood shone in the light, scarlet against the ground. From these series of nightmares, …show more content…
There were dark smudges under his eyes but regardless of that, he still looked infuriatingly handsome. “I thought you’d be up at this hour,” he said casually, using his foot to push the door close.
I stared at what he was holding. There were plates of assorted breads and a mug of steaming brewed coffee. My mouth started to water instantly at the smell of freshly baked pastries. My stomach growled; I haven’t realized that the last time I’ve eaten anything was yesterday morning.
The familiar taste and aroma of black coffee seemed to lift my mood and pull me from the frightening shiver of my earlier dreams. James’ eyes seemed to trace my every movement as I scarfed down the pastries unabashedly. The corners of his lips quirked up and I glared at him, stopping my hand in mid-air as I was about to stuff another bun in my mouth.
“It’s quite startling to see such a skinny girl like you devouring so much food,” James commented, smirking at me.
I ignored him and continued chewing the soft and decadent bun, my stomach growling in contentment. “I would think no less of the Nocturnal Hunter” I muttered under my breath, “to eat commoner