Narrative Essay About Moving Away

I remember the days when we used to live back in Georgetown. We never saw many of the neighbours, just the occasional glimpse of them as the doors closed behind them. Looking back now; the racism that existed back then, the suspicious glances thrown our way, it was no wonder Momma would come home some nights and cry herself to sleep. I guess that’s why we ended up moving, but back then I was just too young to notice or care.
Ever since we moved here to Saynevle, me and my Momma, it’s been hard for us to live a normal life. Each day I learned to cope with the racial slurs, piercing stares and derogatory hand gestures, but it’s something you get used to. If it wasn’t for my only friend Michael, I’d say I would have given up before now. He stuck by me through everything; my schooling days, the troublesome times, and the miserable, uninvited death of my Momma when she got caught up in a spray of bullets that weren’t meant for her.

The clouds grew darker to cover the sight of the worrying moon and the air tasted bitter, all signs that we shouldn’t have been there that night. Michael was in need of some fast cash. His parents were getting a divorce and unsatisfied with life, he had just recently taken up a drug addiction that possessed him and demonized him, making him hungry and angry. The drugs controlled him where he had almost lost his mind and lost all sense of perspective. He thought it would be easy to rob the man behind the petrol station counter, and forced me into helping him.
Michael prepared his pistol, gloss black and slightly faded at the grips, and turned to me. I remember the pale look in his eyes, as if overtaken by a dire spirit, and his fingers trembling and hands shaking like a tree in a violent storm. Perhaps his last words, he said “Alright, let’s get this over