Personal Narrative

We waited, standing on the hot summer concrete. We stood by two security guards. They seemed tired and unamused, like they had done this routine multiple times before now. We weren’t really big anyway, so I could understand why they would act that way on front of us. After a few minutes of waiting, a line of cars pulled up. We walked up to the curb and climbed into the middle car. It was black and long with dark tinted windows. It looked chunky for an ordinary car, so I assumed it was armored. There were multiple cars of the same appearance behind and in front of us. I asked to myself, “Do we really need this much of an escort? Do people really know us this well?” I did not realize we were this significant. Or maybe this was the treatment every …show more content…
The smell of sewage and trash aerated and dispersed in the car. Crows and various birds were scavenging and picking at dropped trash. Graffiti scattered upon every visible wall. I looked up at the sky, which had a green hue to it. It looked like the sky is about to throw up. I never knew I could relate to the sky. There were potholes littered in the road. We knew we were in the bad part of town. The least they could do was to give us a good place to perform our act. There was silence in the car. We can all hear the subtle sound of gravel crushing below the tires and the occasional thump from the …show more content…
They were lifeless. Their heads were set low. I looked down at my stupid yellow suit. What was I doing? I hated this job. All of these people were dying, and they didn’t even get the humane respect they deserve. Killed in front of a cheering crowd? Come on. We weren’t barbarians anymore. Sure, they killed a man, but I think he deserved it. He corrupted our system. Nobody noticed because he brainwashed the population into believing nothing was wrong. It was quite easy to believe nothing was wrong when you didn’t walk the same streets as the countless homeless did. They thought he was superior in the politics race. I couldn’t wait to get away from this place. I stopped thinking. I remembered I had to look good for the big boys upstairs. I turned on my walkie-talkie and told the director to send in the cleanup crew. They came in and chopped the rope from the knot at the top. The boys fell into the trap doors. Clump. The worst sound. The cleanup crew shut the doors, and radioed the guards to send in the next “band”. Corruption at its