Stellie L. #14 11/9
Writing Personal Narrative
I picked myself up rapidly from my fluffed pillow and leaned straight
forward, as I heavily breathed in deeply, as if I had just woken up from a
nightmare. What’s going on? I thought to myself as my heart began to beat and
boom through my chest. My bare legs forcefully kicked off the flannel covers. I
jumped down from my high queen-sized bed and my feet crashed to the pink
carpeted floor. I tried hard to swallow, but it seemed as if a large lump was stuck
in my throat. My small, size thirteen, third grade feet raced their way across my
cold bathroom tiles where I found my mom harshly gasping for air.
“Mom?!” I exclaimed. Though, there had been absolutely no answer as if I
was just looking at a hologram of my own mother. Her face pinched. My eyes
opened wide and deeply darted into hers, where dark circles lay below her
squinted brown eyes, which drooped far down. All I saw was a desperate child in
her almost black pupils. My mom panted like a thirsty dog.
Her pale skin shined in the lit up bathroom, with a pitch black nighttime sky
and dark rooms surrounding us. She wrapped her thin arms around her stomach,
as finally she answered, “SSS…tel…lie.” my mother mumbled under her breath.
Her nose flickered as her nostrils flared. The corners of her chapped lips
turned down, as tears poured over her face like a rainy day. My heart had fallen
from my chest, as soon my tear droplets had danced their way across my cheek.
My mom took the biggest breath of air she could but then stated in
desperation and a soft, crackled whisper, “I can’t breathe, my stomach.”
“Mom?! Mom?!” I yelped
Mommy! Are you okay? I meant to speak, though couldn’t seem to brake
the harsh silence. Without thinking, I raced out of the bathroom, in some way
refusing to watch Mom terribly suffer. The whole house shook from the pounding
of my rapid feet smacking the hard wooden floor, with not a place to go but a
person to see.
“Dad? Where are you? Dad?! Help!” I cried like a young toddler. Beads of
sweat dripped down my face. For a slight second all I could hear were the cricket’s
chirps almost sounding like screams, Mommy panting and my tears hitting the
floor.
“What? What?” my dad awakened and shouted his wonder He raced out of
the bedroom and sprinted after me. I led him to the fearful room.
My
dad
was
frozen.
“I can’t breathe.” My mom repeated herself. His voice began to shake as he
sighed putting on his poker face. His eyes started to water, but held a tear back
from sneaking out. “The hospital… We need to get to the hospital!” dad asserted
and stuttered. “Gabby!” he called as Mom and him raced down the steps.
Suddenly the last alarm button was punched in, as the screech of the door slam
filled my ears. I love you mommy, don’t be scared, I’ll take care of you. I meant to
speak though only my own self had heard.
Immediately, despite the fact, that I was normally not allowed to go in
without permission, I tiptoed into my 13 year old sister, Gabby’s room, as I
spotted her. I ran as fast as I could over to her. Streaks of tears were across her
face. I could feel my skin become boiling hot. The tension built up in the room.
What can I say? I don’t have it in me to talk about this terrible time. “Ummmm…” I
began to speak. Gabby stopped me in my chatter.
I felt the warmth of my sister’s arms drown me in the unknown feeling of
the bed, blankets and pillows. I listened to the echo of my sister and my sniffles. I
tried hard to fall asleep though all I could think about was the portable phone
sweating in my palm. “Stellie.” my sister mumbled. “We have to be brave, brave
for Mom.” She continued as I saw a glimpse of her shiny white teeth trying hard
to fake a smile and a false amount of happiness.
I thought about those memorable words of wisdom when suddenly
my eyes started to drift away from forcing myself to stare up at the ceiling
and refusing to go to sleep. Then suddenly the blast of the phone rang in
my clammy hand. It’s mom. I assured myself. My nightmare was just about
to pass. “Mom?” I exclaimed, my voice rising as if someone was turning the
volume dial on our radio to turn it louder.
“No, is a guardian home?” the stranger’s voice replied back, as
I slammed my index finger on the end call silver button. I was raged with
anger. Gabby sighed; still awake now facing the other side of the bed. I, too
sighed dejectedly, as I completely lost the childish need for there to be a
happy ending after every story. I sat there with my heart shattered. I had
run out of tears by now. The small grey portable phone wailed again. I
yanked it off the small glass table as it wobbled back and forth.
“Yes?” I hissed
“Stellie?!”
“Mom?!”