Mark-Personal Narrative
I heard the door slam shut behind me, as I quickly stumbled towards the bright exit sign.
Arrived in front of the automatic glass door, it smoothly opened, and a cold winter breeze gently flicked my straight fringe away from my eyes.
It was getting late. I could see the last shafts of sunlight shining into the frozen ground and reflecting back into my eyes like shiny, tiny diamonds while the sun was slowly fading behind the modern tall buildings as they were staring down at me with sympathy.
As every step I took leading to nowhere was getting heavier and heavier, the noise of the agitated people and the resonant sound of the moving cars getting louder and louder I then felt my eyes slightly burning while staring fearfully into the bright, …show more content…
far away sunset; and suddenly I felt the wet, warm tear slowly sliding down my cool left cheek; I continued to quickly walk in between the clumsy people, that their eyes were only looking at useless flat screen machines, but then again, from time to time I eventually caught someone disturbingly glance over at me, as I tripped over rushing feet and pushed by angry elbows.
Desperately looking for an isolated, calm place with no loud voices and annoying presences so I could reflect on everything that was going on in my confused, depressed mind and also so I could wait on that life depending phone call.
There I was, sitting on the wooden, dump bench with the scenery of millions of flashing lights, looking like fireflies even if I always pretended they were stars since now every single star is the black sky was covered by a heavy, thick, toxic blanket and was impossible to see in the big city.
I tightly held my small, brick phone in my cold weak hands, hoping to feel the repeating vibration of the receiving call trough my now paralysed, iced fingers.
Suddenly my eyes were getting tired, they were gently closing, time passed fast when fantasising about the hoped future, I didn't know what time it was and I didn't want to know. I was just sitting there, looking in an empty space, waiting for the morning to raise up as soon as possible.
Maybe I should have gone home, maybe I should have laid in my single bed with pointless covers and extra pillows on me, drinking a hot cup of tea, not thinking too much about the possible consequences and hoping for the best to happen; but then again who was there waiting for me? Who would care if I was sad or happy, hungry or thirsty, dying or not?
Eventually, I got bored of repeating the made up story in my head, so I slowly stood up and started limping trough the downhill slim road that was illuminated by old street lights for all the way.
Casually I was looking down just at the road in front of my feet, with my hood up since I could feel light snowflakes touching my naked skin, then out of nowhere I bump into this tall, scary looking person and I get pushed back a meter or two, just to then find out the tall, scary looking person was Mark.
Mark was an old friend, he's a sweet person that also had problems in his life, he looked down that night, not in the best of moods, I was curious of what was wrong with him, but I was scared that if I asked, the same question would be asked back immediately; so to avoid that stressful question I smartly asked to go get a drink in one of those pubs, were old men with a boring life go to have a pint and watch the football game, were the country music is played and the chunky wife sings along to every word, were when crufty pretty girls walk in they get offered a free drink, and straight after leave.
He looked a bit shocked to my offer, probably because I wasn't the kind of boy to waste my life in does places, but he couldn't refuse, that is what he needed as
well.
Having decided we continued on walking down. no words were said. Eventually, we would look at each other with curiosity, both knowing something was wrong but not wanting to ask for the same reason.
We arrived in one of the main streets, were young boys and girls threw their life away by drinking and smoking at the sides of the streets, maybe behind a tree, or in a public park hiding from the police. Being ''cool''.
All we could hear and see was the screams of pretending drunk kids running around, swearing at each other, telling each other stupid secrets; I and Mark occasionally gave out a giggle when we managed to listen in some of their arguments.
Finally, we turned the corner, it seemed like a completely different world, quite but full of the ''real'' life, we sat down outside in this little country pub as I described, had few drinks and few good talks about old memories, but never once asked about the problem.
He's phone rang and suddenly he left with just saying a simple sorry, I went in to pay, and as soon as I stepped outside I felt the long waited, repetitive vibration in my jeans pocket, shaking I answered and a sweet, happy voice said ' I'm happy to announce that you, sir do not have a pancreatic cancer!'.
I didn't know how to react, I was extremely happy. I rushed myself home, quickly opened my red wooden door, happily to tell the news to my mum, I ran through the squeaky corridor into her room, but to then sadly find her drunk on the floor, with a bottle of red wine in each of her hands, not even being able to speak.
I felt disappointed, angry but especially sad. I remembered I had no one there waiting for me, no one that cared if I was happy or sad, hungry or thirsty, if I was dying or not...
And that was when I wished the cancer was really ther
Arrived in front of the automatic glass door, it smoothly opened, and a cold winter breeze gently flicked my straight fringe away from my eyes.
It was getting late. I could see the last shafts of sunlight shining into the frozen ground and reflecting back into my eyes like shiny, tiny diamonds while the sun was slowly fading behind the modern tall buildings as they were staring down at me with sympathy.
As every step I took leading to nowhere was getting heavier and heavier, the noise of the agitated people and the resonant sound of the moving cars getting louder and louder I then felt my eyes slightly burning while staring fearfully into the bright, …show more content…
far away sunset; and suddenly I felt the wet, warm tear slowly sliding down my cool left cheek; I continued to quickly walk in between the clumsy people, that their eyes were only looking at useless flat screen machines, but then again, from time to time I eventually caught someone disturbingly glance over at me, as I tripped over rushing feet and pushed by angry elbows.
Desperately looking for an isolated, calm place with no loud voices and annoying presences so I could reflect on everything that was going on in my confused, depressed mind and also so I could wait on that life depending phone call.
There I was, sitting on the wooden, dump bench with the scenery of millions of flashing lights, looking like fireflies even if I always pretended they were stars since now every single star is the black sky was covered by a heavy, thick, toxic blanket and was impossible to see in the big city.
I tightly held my small, brick phone in my cold weak hands, hoping to feel the repeating vibration of the receiving call trough my now paralysed, iced fingers.
Suddenly my eyes were getting tired, they were gently closing, time passed fast when fantasising about the hoped future, I didn't know what time it was and I didn't want to know. I was just sitting there, looking in an empty space, waiting for the morning to raise up as soon as possible.
Maybe I should have gone home, maybe I should have laid in my single bed with pointless covers and extra pillows on me, drinking a hot cup of tea, not thinking too much about the possible consequences and hoping for the best to happen; but then again who was there waiting for me? Who would care if I was sad or happy, hungry or thirsty, dying or not?
Eventually, I got bored of repeating the made up story in my head, so I slowly stood up and started limping trough the downhill slim road that was illuminated by old street lights for all the way.
Casually I was looking down just at the road in front of my feet, with my hood up since I could feel light snowflakes touching my naked skin, then out of nowhere I bump into this tall, scary looking person and I get pushed back a meter or two, just to then find out the tall, scary looking person was Mark.
Mark was an old friend, he's a sweet person that also had problems in his life, he looked down that night, not in the best of moods, I was curious of what was wrong with him, but I was scared that if I asked, the same question would be asked back immediately; so to avoid that stressful question I smartly asked to go get a drink in one of those pubs, were old men with a boring life go to have a pint and watch the football game, were the country music is played and the chunky wife sings along to every word, were when crufty pretty girls walk in they get offered a free drink, and straight after leave.
He looked a bit shocked to my offer, probably because I wasn't the kind of boy to waste my life in does places, but he couldn't refuse, that is what he needed as
well.
Having decided we continued on walking down. no words were said. Eventually, we would look at each other with curiosity, both knowing something was wrong but not wanting to ask for the same reason.
We arrived in one of the main streets, were young boys and girls threw their life away by drinking and smoking at the sides of the streets, maybe behind a tree, or in a public park hiding from the police. Being ''cool''.
All we could hear and see was the screams of pretending drunk kids running around, swearing at each other, telling each other stupid secrets; I and Mark occasionally gave out a giggle when we managed to listen in some of their arguments.
Finally, we turned the corner, it seemed like a completely different world, quite but full of the ''real'' life, we sat down outside in this little country pub as I described, had few drinks and few good talks about old memories, but never once asked about the problem.
He's phone rang and suddenly he left with just saying a simple sorry, I went in to pay, and as soon as I stepped outside I felt the long waited, repetitive vibration in my jeans pocket, shaking I answered and a sweet, happy voice said ' I'm happy to announce that you, sir do not have a pancreatic cancer!'.
I didn't know how to react, I was extremely happy. I rushed myself home, quickly opened my red wooden door, happily to tell the news to my mum, I ran through the squeaky corridor into her room, but to then sadly find her drunk on the floor, with a bottle of red wine in each of her hands, not even being able to speak.
I felt disappointed, angry but especially sad. I remembered I had no one there waiting for me, no one that cared if I was happy or sad, hungry or thirsty, if I was dying or not...
And that was when I wished the cancer was really ther