Personal Narrative Fiction

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"Ugh, this is taking forever," a young girl groaned. She fidgeted in her seat, twisting with her seatbelt and tapping her fingers on the window. Her complaints were ignored by the driver, the only sign of acknowledgement being that his eye twitched in irritation. She complained again, "When are we getting there? I'm dying." This wasn't so much a complaint than a statement. They were driving through the Sonoran desert in the summer and the truck was old with no air conditioning. "Read your princess crap, May" her great-uncle replied, not answering her question. She grumbled, but did as he said, pulling a hardcover novel from her bright pink backpack. May became engrossed in the plights of fantastical characters, only pausing when she bounced…show more content…
She peered out the truck's rear window and saw two men by another car -a glossy red one- arguing. One man seemed frightened and angry, his shoulders pushed back, but he was trembling. The other man seemed cool as an ice pop, twirling something between his fingers and leaning against the car as if he owned it. It became clear that the confident man did not own the car, May observed, when the man pointed the thing in his hand -a glinting, shiny knife- at the real car owner. The criminal's shoulders shook as he pretended to jab the knife at the car owner. The man flinched. All bravado had…show more content…
"It's not gross!" she shouted. Her uncle raised an eyebrow. "It's a dead deer; roadkill," he pointed out, gesticulating at it. May turned back around and held the deer's -she was pretty sure it was a fawn- head tenderly. The fawn was petite and pretty with its beautiful white marking, now splashed and tainted by blood and dirt and dust. She had never seen roadkill before. May had been told it was usually grisly and disgusting, with entrails hanging out of the body and the head smashed in. The fawn wasn't like that. It seemed it had gone to sleep except for the pieces of glass, metal and rock sticking out of its chest. The eleven-year old stood and blindly walked around, collecting dead flowers, leaving the few that were alive alone. She gathered them into a pile and started braiding and weaving the flowers- Chias, Lilies, Brittlebushes, and Dandelions- together. May's great-uncle stood in the same spot, his hands behind his back as let her go through with her funeral

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