Personal Narrative-Racial Profiling
Sherlock flopped down, in his armchair, a scowl adorning his lips. He was bored and it bloody showed. “God! I’m so bloody bored!”, the curly, raven haired, male shouted before he jumped up and grabbed the gun from the side table, raised it up and pulled the trigger. Bang! Bang! Bang! The gun went off, bullets erupting from the barrel of the gun. Each bullet embedding itself into the wall. “Bored. Bored. BORED!!” Sherlock yelled, emptying the whole magazine into the wall. the consulting detective yelled once more, before flopping back onto the seat of his chair.
“I need a case.”, the gun dangled from between his fingers, his hazel eyes resting upon the ceiling above. Sherlock sat there, his gaze on the ceiling; listening to the ticking of the