Personal Narrative Fiction
Personal Narrative
Blinking my eyes, the smell of fresh crispy bacon fills the tent.
“Good morning, guys,” I exclaim. Josh, Lily, Alex, Mike, Bob & I are camping in the Camp Evergreen tenting/RV area. Getting up, I throw on my jacket and head outside.
When he spots me, my friend's dad Sam invites me over to light the fire. After three tries, I finally succeeded! My first fire! Pleasure fills my heart until I realize I’m still holding the flaming match. Dropping it just in time, I can feel where the flames almost burned me.
More rustling comes from the tent. Josh and Alex emerge, eyes half closed. Tromping over to us, they murmur their ‘good mornings’ and help themselves to the watermelon.
“Yum,” I exclaim, after trying it for myself. Another piece waved, inviting me to have more.
Later, after the rest of the kids & parents got up, we biked over to the jump track. Well, almost all of us.
“Where’s Josh?” Mike asked. Josh came careening around the corner.
“Clear the track! Clear the track!” he shouts. Jumping out of the way, I catch a glimpse of a profoundly amazing jump. 2.5 seconds of air time, almost perfect landing with a rough turn-around. I’d say Proficient, I thought. A millisecond later, Mike came racing around. We oohed and aahed at the agility he had as he cleared the jump. It was magnificent until he landed hard and toppled off his bike.
Righting himself, he cried out in pain. “Ouch!” Running over there, I couldn’t help but wince at the sound of his cry.
“Bob and Lily, get the parents,” I ordered. “Josh, get the first aid kit, and I’ll stay here.” The first time I glanced at Mike, he seemed fine. This time, when I glanced at him, there were numerous cuts and bruises.
“Here.” Matthew passed me the first aid kit. When I looked up, I saw Joe, Mike’s Dad, hustling over alongside Sam. Realizing my time here was done, I went back to the campsite, leaving the kit behind.
A couple minutes later, noticing Joe, Mike and Sam coming to the campsite, I jump up and go over to see how Mike’s doing. “Okay,” he responds when I ask him. Relief flows through me, allowing me to loosen my grip on the spoon I was holding.
Now I realize bikes are not always meant for the most rough terrain. I think this will be the last race I do!
Personal Fiction
As I walk into school, I notice Frank, Aiva and Leila chatting with each other.
“Yo guys! How’s it going?’’ I ask.
“Not bad,” They respond. Looking around, I notice Zach’s water bottle being passed around. Zach lunges for it, laughing, but I snatch it out of the air and toss it to Scarlet. The game continues until a sloppy throw from Mark ends it. I turn around and continue to the classroom, still chatting with Frank and Aiva.
“Hello,” I cheerfully said to Ms. Whitney. She continues staring at her phone, acting like she didn’t hear me. Continuing to my seat, I pull a book out and start to read.
“DUOTANG WORK,” She yells.
“I’m already done,” I meekly respond.
“DO IT NOW,” She orders. She didn’t leave until I had opened up my duotangs and started the math.
After two hours of torture, it was recess. Frank, Aiva, Leila, Zach and I work on chopping out ice blocks. When Ms. Whitney blew her whistle, we ran up and begged her to give us extra recess time. She blew her stack, responding with “DO YOU WANT TO HAVE ANY LUNCH AND AFTERNOON RECESSES? SINCE IF YOU DO, SHUT UP AND GET IN LINE.”
The afternoon slowly went by, as we spent the remaining four hours doing worksheets, silently. Every 20 minutes, she collected them and gave us another worksheet for a different subject. Finally, she told us to “GO HOME.” I rushed up to Frank and Aiva, telling them my plan.
We ran to the office, pushing and pulling our way through the sea of people.
“Mr. Brad! Mr. Brad!” we call, “our teacher is different, she’s not nice. She isn’t Ms. Whitney.” He called Mean Ms. Whitney to his office, and told her the golden words; “You’re Fired.”
The next day, when I got to school, I ran to the class, and said “Hello” to the teacher who greeted us.
“Good Morning! We are reading now!” She responded! It felt great to have a nice teacher again. Later, I found out that the Mean Ms. Whitney was actually Nice Ms. Whitney’s twin! Who knew!
