Personal Narrative Analysis

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It’s dark out. And it’s cold. No one wants to enter that wild beast, but the cold drives me in. The cold might be more abuse than inside, but inside is warmer. Even the lashes, even the words, even the cuts are better than outside. My pillow is damp. Damp from tears. Damp from fear. Damp from the unknown. Fear is the only reason I’m scared of coming home. Fear is why I’m scared of running away. Fear keeps me far, and close at the same time. Every night the same thought recurs; If I ran away, where would I go? Would it all be better? But I know that is just farfetched. The paper route doesn’t cover the cost of dinner. The paper route doesn’t cover the cost of laundry. I work in order to feed myself, in order to clothe myself, in order to

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