Personal Narrative Essay

The crisp, cold November air hit me like a truck as I opened the library doors, making an overdue exit after practically two hours of studying.
It was only 5:45 p.m., but the sky—painted a midnight blue—seemed to think otherwise. It would have been completely dark outside if not for the small pools of light flooding the ground beneath the streetlights.
I began making my way home on the well-memorized path that I took practically every day, sighing when I thought about how I was one of the only seniors at my high school without a car. When I turned the corner onto my large neighborhood, a black van roared to life behind me—lingering a bit too close for comfort. After a few agonizingly painful minutes of the van following me, I couldn’t take it anymore.

. . need I say more? I suddenly turned around and started walking faster in the other direction, hoping that I could just take a shortcut to get to my home.
“Just a coincidence. Nothing’s going to happen, I’m just being paranoid,” I muttered to myself—as if saying the words would make them true, despite the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
When I glanced behind me, I noticed the van turning back around in the direction I was going, gaining more speed than before. When it finally dawned on me that I was definitely being followed, a shot of adrenaline passed through my veins, coercing me to try and make a run for it.
Becoming increasingly nervous, I broke out into a run. As I was bolting across the street, desperately running for my life, I turned around to glance at the van. Despite my outlandish determination, the van was only a few feet away from