Essay on Personal Narrative - Original Writing And Writing
Which is why as soon as I entered the run down school I started punching the grainy walls repeatedly. The walls were made out of a rough stone-like texture, and so it didn 't shock me when my balled up fist started bleeding. I kept punching, not knowing what I was actually trying to accomplish.
"Hey, [insert martial artist here] calm down. Oh, look at you, your hands are bleeding." Jace looked at me like I had just hurt his feelings somehow.
"What 's wrong?" he looked at me sideways, not unlike a confused puppy.
"What do you mean? Does something have to be wrong for someone to punch walls? Do normal people not do that?" I feigned ignorance, not wanting to deal with the whole ' feelings ' talk.
Jace moved his worried stare from my face to my bloody knuckles. I wiped the blood on my jeans, obviously not having a first aid kit hidden in my pants.
"You 're mad at someone." Jace mused, squeaking his shoes as he strolled down the linoleum tiles, grabbing my hand to examine it further. I squirmed around awkwardly, and I thought that Jace would make fun of me for it, but instead he quietly murmured gentle words, acting as if I were an easily frightened doe, ready to run at any moment.
For a few seemingly dragging seconds we were both quiet as Jace examined the small wound. Naturally, when the conversation started I was…