Personal Narrative: Home

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I packed my shoes and my old clothes that they gave back to me, into a small orange duffle bag that says Kiowa Penitentiary in big black letters. I was escorted by Greg who has been a guard at the prison for two years. I’m ready to start my new life after three years in that hellhole. I’m heading for Denver which is about 10 miles to my left on the main road. As day turns to night walk alone with my head down not wanting to cause trouble as I pass the houses that I helped vandalise as a kid. As I got to Old Post Rd I contemplate not going to see them but I know that Will would be happy. I walked up to the rundown gray house, with the dead gardens and chipped paint and the smell of burnt food. So my mom must not be home, as I’m walking to the front door I hear a loud bang and I fell to the ground holding my leg blood started to spill onto my hands Carlos…show more content…
I woke up with a splitting headache my arms were chained to the wall in a large empty warehouse. Carlos walked up with a metal baseball bat in his hand slowly patting his hand with the bat. “You're lucky I didn’t kill your punk little brother after all the money you lost me” “I didn't mean to burn down that field Carlos” “ Oh so you didn’t mean to pour gasoline on my biggest pot field and then throw your lighter on the ground…” “ Then break into that womans house and beat the crap out of her, get in police custody and hide in prison for three years.” “ If you're going to kill me just do it already” “ I'm not going to kill you, but you do owe me the 2.3 million dollars that the field was worth” Then just like that Carlos hit me in the head with the bat and I was out cold. I awoke on the driveway at my childhood home it was pitch black out I just snuck inside and fell asleep on the old ratty green couch. All of a sudden I felt a sharp pinch in my ear as my mother dragged me out on the porch slapping me

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