I was at a party, that day, and was returning home at the darkest hour of the night. As I walked alone on the empty street, with houses and shops on both sides, I wondered why they say you should never travel alone at night. I myself had never seen any mishaps happening. That night, I finally did.
A car was suddenly on the road. Though it was not clear in the dark, I bet it was a Mercedes of some sort. I also guess the driver must be drunk, for he was singing loudly and was moving the car at the speed of a rocketship. When I turned my head to the right, a dainty little woman, possibly seventy years of age, decided to step out for a midnight walk. Neither the driver see the lady, nor did she see the car; I saw it all, though.
She was down on the floor. Thankfully no blood was visible. The drunkard tottered out of the car. He looked at the woman, and said in a slurred voice, "Hey, you just got run over by a car. This is no time to sleep, lady!" I believe he was badly intoxicated. He was dark-skinned, with a slight beard and a short moustache. Apparently he had been to a party as well, for he was in party wear. he was almost thirty years old. Then he noticed me. Taking advantage of his diminished awareness, I said, "Relax, I'm just a tree."
Then, feeling satisfied that he had left no witnesses, he drove off. The lady is in a hospital now, and I am a prime eyewitness.
So now I know why one must not travel alone at night.
Essay on Personal Narrative- The Fatal Car Accident
856 Words4 Pages
Personal Narrative- The Fatal Car Accident
I always hear those old sayings. In the course of one day I can hear them about everything from retraining old dogs to getting up early. I think they make sense and I even ponder on some of them, but I never really thought one might mean as much to me, or become as realistic as it has become in my life. The clichés about telling those you love, how you feel, before it is too late and the ones about living every day like it is your last have an all new meaning to me.
I remember it like it happened yesterday. I am sprawled out on my bed doing homework. The phone rings for what seems like the hundredth time that evening. I answer it with a snap of annoyance. My best friend, Stephanie, on the…show more content…
By the time I get to school the next morning, I have all but convinced myself that I don’t know anyone who drives a white CRX.
The bell rings and school jumps into action. Immediately the halls worry with the buzz of whispered questions and curious rumors. The bits and pieces of the past night’s events that I over-hear in the hallway on the way to the locker tell me of the trauma. In the ten short minutes before first period, I learned that the white CRX, driven by Chase Burton and occupied by John Stormes, both previous Daniel Boone students, along with two others, lost control and wrecked. It somersaulted at a high rate of speed, flinging all of the passengers out of the car and ripping them against the cold interstate asphalt. John died and Chase lies suffering in critical condition. The walk to my first period class suddenly becomes a blur, as if it in a dream- a really bad dream.
All of this must be wrong. John just won’t leave my mind. I keep seeing him and his over-sized Pantera tee-shirt hanging loosely on his lanky body. His scuffed black combat boots are barely visible beneath his too-long, super-wide-legged jeans. The earring and buzz cut give the wrong impression to those who never took the time to find out how smart and caring he was.
He can’t be dead. There he goes, through the hall. No, that is someone else, but his assigned seat is still empty. He’ll come dragging in here any minute. I bet he woke up late or got stuck in traffic.
I float from