Personal Narrative

My dark brown boots had stepped in the puddle. My sparkling blue eyes could tell that it had freshly rained outside. The puddle was cold and seeped through my boots ever so slowly. I could feel the small drops of cool rain on my arms. As I looked ahead, all I saw was a desolate dirt path. The evergreens to the side of me seemed to sway as they soaked in the cold rainy air. It was as if the trees were breathing, just as everyone else was. I picked up the bottom of my gray and tan floral dress so it wouldn’t drag in the dirt, and then continued walking. I was making my way to arrive to what used to be my school. It was burned down two years ago. Now, it’s just a well. The well was built with the soft brick ruins of the school. I take this path

I opened the broken chain the dark wooden door, and came to see my grandmother’s hands over her head in disbelief. I slowly walked up to her to ask her what was wrong, and she told me about the new tax. I didn’t quite know why she would be so upset about another tax because it happened all the time. Her old scratchy voice creaked as she told me more details. The British government had put a tax on all paper products. This meant everything paper would be taxed, everything from legal documents, newspapers, magazine, and just plain old sheets of paper. It seemed to me that the rich would just get richer and the poor would just get poorer. Now, I would have to find an alternative for paper. This was probably one of the most complex tasks of my

I got my old ripped black jacket and put it on my shivering arms. I headed into town, it was a long walk ahead of me. The puddles from the previous day were still there, I took a step with my boots and landed in the puddle. The water sank down from the puddle into the bottom of my shoe, making its way to my sock. It felt cold on my toes and brought slight discomfort to me. I ignored the discomfort and kept walking to town. After about thirty minutes time, I had arrived in town. The closer and closer I got to town square, the more screaming and yelling I could hear. From a distance, I could see the small bright yellow orange flame from the torches. This meant yet another protest.

I had made it to town square, everyone surrounded by what used to be a beautiful fountain with a sparkling stream of water coming from the top of the spicket. My eyes had glanced slightly to see a man with roaring fire in his eyes. His old gray beard moved up and down as he yelled a chant in unison with the others. It seemed like anyone who owned a weapon had it sticking straight up in the air, ready to demolish anything that came in their