Personal Narrative Fiction

1132 Words5 Pages

ONE “I’m not alone in here!” I yell. “I am not alone here! You don’t understand!” My mind spun like a pinwheel. All the demons around me holler and laugh. I cannot see anyone in the room with me, but I feel the ghosts surrounding me; I hear them yelling in my ears. My mother just laughs tensely, then abruptly stops. “Stop it!” My mother’s voice is sharp like a knife sliding across paper. “There is nobody in there with you!” “No! You don’t understand! Let me out!” I scream, wildly hitting the closet door with my fist. I am locked in the closet. Green butterflies erupt in my stomach, beating their paper wings violently.
“You are not coming out!” Mom says, “You are staying there.”
“No! I’m not!” I protest, pulling my hair and resting my forehead …show more content…

“No! Please stop,” I scream at her. My voice has risen to an inhuman shriek.
“Stop it!” Her warning tone rises over my vigorous cries. She curses at me My heart thrashes against my rib cage, my body hyperventilates. The voices holler, too. They all have names; I know all of them very well. Currently, Izzy’s voice, high-pitched as if she sucked in a great deal of helium, is the most prominent. I flinch at her words. She tells me to kill. She shouts at me, she screams. I press my shaking palms against my ears until they throb, yet it does not drown out the voices shouting at me. I feel dread crashing onto me like a tidal wave.
It is a circus inside my head.
It is a loud, obnoxious circus inside of my head; a frightening circus, full of laughing clowns and whistling …show more content…

The top of these matches are red, like fire, and the body of the matches is blue, like the sky. I smile and then frown seconds later. The night of fire, the day’s blue sky, I think to myself. My thoughts drown out all other noises.
My trembling fingers strike the dark match against the side of its shadowed box. A familiar scent of smutty ash follows a thin cerulean ribbon of smoke into the air and I gulp. The rings of smoke leave in the twinkling of an eye and a tiny fire sparks to life atop of the red tip of the match.
Bedazzled for a moment, I smile in grandeur grief. I can hear the voices screaming from all sides. Some voices are low, some are high. They prompt me to go on; they force me to continue, so it is no accident when I let the burning flame fall from my hand. The tips of my fingers graze the wood as the match slips down. Seconds later, my dark room erupts in cruel orange flames.
I feel the golden glow on my skin. The fire gives me wings and I feel its burning rage in my lungs. I am an angel, wrapped in light, adorned with wings of fire – golden fire. I close my eyes and say goodnight to the world that is now alight. Adrenaline tumbles through my veins faster than ever – my body becomes a bullet train and the fire moves faster than ever

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