Personal Narrative: A Day After Doodle's Death

The day after Doodle died, it was a cold, rainy night. I was curled up in the corner of my room shivering, wishing I could just have one more chance to have my crippled brother back. After a couple hours of sad depression, I slowly stood up and grabbed my old, wrinkled navy blue jacket and walked out of my room. I walked down the creaking stairs and once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I told my mom that I'm going to take a walk to get some fresh air; She took a quick glance at me from the ragged couch and just layed back into the couch, so I walked out the brown wooden door. I put my thin hood over my head and started walking down the old, worn down street. There was a cornfield on the right side of the street and the dark creeping woods on the

I told him, “Go away you stupid fish!” and I punched him in the face and ran for the stairs. Before I could even get one step on the wooden stairs he grabbed me by the wrist and yelled,” You should not have done that little boy.” I tried to get away from his tight grip on my wrist but it was too strong, and the clown pulled me towards him and hugged me. Then once he was done hugging me, he pushed me to the corner of the room and said, “Let’s play a game called Surgeon, I’m the surgeon and your the patient. First we have to cut off the head of the patient.” I pushed him away and ran for the stairs once again. I got to the doorway and the clown dove up the stairs, grabbed my foot, and I fell to the ground. I grabbed the edges of the doorframe so I could get some leverage. I started resisting and kicking my feet, but I could not get his hands off me. I started crying and screaming. The clown finally pulled me down the stairs and my head was pounding on the hard stairs and I got knocked out. Once I woke up, I was strapped up to a table and I couldn't move at