Personal Narrative: Who Was My Sister?

I can remember how the ground felt underneath of me, and I can remember my mom screaming. I couldn’t move my head, but I could look straight up. The sky was blue and full of clouds. Where was my sister? Where was my mom? I wanted to stand up, but all I could do was flip onto my side. There was somebody there. It was a boy. He was lying on his stomach and facing me. A red pickup truck was pinning him to the ground. I stared him in the eyes. Caleb. I didn’t even know his last name. I only knew him as the kid in my band class who hardly talked, seemed angry, and played the trumpet incredibly. I might have seen him smile once. He was so intimidating, my hands shook when it was our turn to play. He was tall and scrawny and he had terrible posture. …show more content…
It wasn’t romantic, and it wasn’t anything I ever should have thought of again. We were both scared kids, and he was stuck under a truck, and my brain wasn’t working the way it should, so we held hands. I should have been looking for my sister, or my mom, or for help. I shouldn’t have been holding hands with some stupid boy who had never spoken a word to me before. The blood on his lip and chin was drying, and the blood from my head was dripping into my eyes. It stung, and I would rather focus on that rather than the excruciating pain coming from my head and wrist, so I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could. I heard another car drive up. I was still holding hands with him, and I didn’t want to let go. I couldn’t let go. My eyes were still squinted shut, and his hand was getting colder and colder. It was still soft and boney, but it was getting colder. I didn’t want to open my eyes because I knew he was dead. I was so sure he was dead, that I couldn’t even open my eyes to see if the car was here to help. The person in it got out of their car, but they didn’t come close to us. All I heard was the car door shut. I still couldn’t open my