Personal Narrative Fiction

“Hello, is anyone home?” called out Elyse. “Of course not, what a shocker,” She mumbled. She unpacked her bread and jam she swiped from the market. It was the year of 1920. World War 1 has just ended.

Elyse pulled out a picture of her mother, Marine Delilah Gale, with a single tear falling down her cheek. She wipes the tear as she hears the door swing open and loud, slow footsteps come her way. “Elyse, uhh you’re home early.”
“This is the same time I come home everyday,” she said to her father, Pat Gale.
“Oh, well me and the guys are going down to the old bar on Crook St. just in case you are wondering,” he said with a loud belch.
“You now, just because mom died didn’t mean you should start drinking. It could cause some big problems,” she said with a serious tone.

Have… fun with “the guys,” she said furiously.

Elyse walked down her creaky hallway to a section of her house she called her “room.” There she decided to go through her old scrapbook of family photos. She pulled out another picture of her mother when she was her age. With the thought of her mother, she went out to the old cemetery for fallen soldiers. She got down on her knees and began to sob.
“Are you ok?” called a woman behind Elyse. “You know, she died for a good reason,” said the unfamiliar woman.
“Who are you?” asked Elyse.
“ My names Loretta Perfectus Walsh.” “What a name.” mumbled Elyse sarcastically. “Well, hi Loretta, I’m Elyse Gale. Who are you here for?” asked