Personal Narrative Cornfield

I was walking home from school. My mom doesn’t like it when I cut through the cornfield instead of walking along the road. She gets worried. She doesn’t like the idea of me in the field, alone and defenseless. That was the worst part about when it got harvested in the fall, at the start of winter. The isolation lures me in. The scent of the newly harvested crop filled the air with every step that hit the ground. It was eerily peaceful. The field had grown dark since I had left the school grounds and the glow from the streetlamps was not luminous enough to reach the dark lengths of the domain.
I feel them. Two eyes. Drilling into the back of my head. Then I hear the crunch of the cornstalks under his feet. He’s getting closer. I know who it
He didn’t look like he was messing around anymore. I dropped my books and bolted. I was not a very fast runner at all. I tried out for track every year and never made it. He didn’t look fast but he was having no trouble keeping up to me as I clambered across the field. What was going on? This man was chasing me through the cornfield. What would happen when he caught me. Whatever was going to happen would happen soon. He could reach me if he wanted to. He grabbed my hair and pushed me down. My mom loved my hair. She said it was the most beautiful thing about me. It goes good with my bright blue eyes. When I went to my first dance, she had said that I looked perfect, in round bouncy curls around my face. “I’m going to cut off all of your pretty blonde hair,” he said, he was kneeling down and his face was close to mine. His breath smelled terrible. I screamed. There were tears streaming down my face now. This seemed to only fuel whatever was making him do this. He started dragging me to his car. I tried to get up and start to run again but he struck me across the face and I fell back to the ground in pain. I could taste blood. My resistance was doing nothing. He, very roughly, placed me in the trunk of his car and started driving. Headlights