Kolinski's Story Of The Revealed-Personal Narrative

My mama had finished her story by telling me she’d been mortified and didn’t know what to do, so she did, what I guess anyone in her situation would have done. She left. The funny thing is though, at the time of all this happening, she’d been standing in line behind Kolinski at the checkout holding a package of aspirin and some salve ointments for me that were supposedly good for curing poison ivy. (Which she thought I might have had due to the red patches that I’d developed around the scratches on my legs I had received from my time in the forest. The rash had gotten puffer over the last few days and started to spread a little.) In her confusion she had simply forgotten to put the items back or at least leave them down on the nearest counter

She told me I was losing it, and I was becoming a real pussy-ass New Yorker already, to which I told her that I could still kick her ass. After the call I had put my phone back on its charge, and in doing so received a nasty, little shock of static electricity that made me swear out loud. I then sat on my bed looking out my balcony windows at the storm which had come ever closer, and just now beginning to let rip after it had crested over the hills and forest atop Mt. Harrison. As I watched the show, I could hear my mama and step daddy down the hall in their bedroom discussing something, but I couldn’t make out just what it was through the walls and distance, and honestly, I really didn’t care. Looking out at the mountain the sky above its forest had rapidly grown dark. But I could still see the maelstrom of thunder clouds that were whirling around one another through the last wisps of daylight as if the gods were becoming angry. From my spot on my bed the storm looked like it was building itself up to bring forth a crushing blow that might level all the trees of the

For as long as I could remember, I had always loved watching them with their wicked brilliance as they’d let loose their payload of lightning that would pierce the atmosphere igniting the air on fire. And, at that moment as I looked out over the mountain I found myself feeling that way again, antsy with delectation and almost giddy enough to start cavorting about my bedroom in heightened anticipation of the performance that was about to unfold. I cracked opened the French glass doors that led out to my balcony and was immediately hit by a wave of cool air that been saturated with a powerful stench of ozone and pine. I could also hear the sounds of the trees atop Mt. Harrison groaning as they aggressively swayed back-and-forth as wave-after-wave of upcoming gales rushed down the hillsides sweeping their way through them. My parents had begun to pick up their voices too, and I could now hear them consistently coming through the walls but I still wasn’t able to make out just what it was they were talking about. It was like they were drunks and their speech was all