Personal Narrative-witha Orphanage

There she sat, waiting for something. The girl in the little white dress that would match the color of her smile, had she ever dared to show it, was just sitting there. Waiting. What she was waiting for was not apparent. Her sky-blue eyes seemed to be searching for something, and her fragile, childish hands looked longing to touch something. The curls in her unmade hair seemed to express her personal identity--someone who was lost, confused, and forgotten. The room that she found herself in was dark, with a smell similar to sulfur that was so strong that even the most strong willed men couldn’t stand. She didn’t seem to notice it. In the corner of the same room in the same place, I stood. Tekakwitha Orphanage was home to many like her--the …show more content…
My creation. This too was a rarity--I hated to think about things. I thought back to my master, my promise to him that I would cleanse the world of all evil. I was keeping that promise. He would be pleased.

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Thomas was excited for his first day of kindergarten. He was looking forward to new friends, to learn things, and especially snack time--he loved food. His passion for sustenance was evident, as he was largely overweight for his age. Nonetheless, as he went through the day and as recess came, he enthusiastically ran outside, playing a game of “tag” with some of his newfound companions. He was loving school, and, as the day ended and he walked to the bus stop, he was on top of the world, ready to tell his loving mother about his wonderful first day.
As the bus pulled into the stop nearest to Thomas’ house, the man in the black suit was waiting. Patiently. He hid behind a small trailer, invisible to the unsuspecting five-year-old.

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Death. Famine. Pestilence. A Son of Perdition. In recent years, you have given me a different titles. Mental illness. Terrorism. Anger. Death must take place in order for reality to take place. The world you live in is a falsity. A fallacy. Nothing but your imagination in which you are trapped in a fake world of fake hope, with fake emotions and lavish perceptions of the “true meaning of life”. I have no such time for such dense ideas. I live in reality. I live in the night, in the shadows of mankind. Watching. Striking when necessary, forcing society to look at the evil they live within. And if you neglect the genuinity of this light that is death, no matter. I am here to cleanse the world of imperfections. I am here to cleanse the world of people like you. You are next. You are my next subject. You cannot run, you cannot hide. You cannot escape me. You will not fool what cannot be fooled. You cannot fool