Personal Narrative-Humorous Wedding Day

Vroom… the flamboyant yellow car flies through ashy wet road as if it were racing to the finish line. Leaving me alone with my rustic oil pump in one hand and a dollar and twenty cents in the other. My head is still pounding with overwhelming power as I stumble inside the garage and instantly collapse on the faded coach. I look around the garage with my heavy eyes and notice the shattered picture frame on the cement floor. I push myself off the couch and pick up the shattered glass pieces as well as, the picture frame simultaneously. It’s a portrait of us, me and Myrtle on our wedding day. I can’t help but reminisce about that day. We were so happy. She looked so beautiful. It was an elegant white silk chiffon dress. I remember I couldn’t afford

“So weak. I don’t why I even married you in the first place”! She’s standing behind me, wearing a blue and white Pokka dotted dress. I don’t know where she got that from. She’s standing there with a disdainful posture, looking around with disgust. “This…This! I don’t deserve this! I was meant to live an elegant and extravagant life! I was meant to live a house that’s as big as the Buckingham Palace! I was meant to drive is the newest cars, I was meant to marry a rich handsome man! But I married you instead”! I turn around and stare into Myrtle’s ignorant eyes. I could see her shouldering vitality turn into a flaming blaze. “You’re nothing but a spineless, spiritless man! Just because you locked me up in that filthy room doesn’t mean you are a man, it just means you are a wife beater! That’s right you are a wife beater!”
My fists were tightly clenched now and I could feel my biceps starting to pump. My face began to turn bright red. It was as if I was unconscious. But in my fit of rage, I glance out the window and at the billboard with Doctor T.J Eckleburg. For some odd reason the eyes of Doctor T.J Eckleburg give me peace of mind. I can tell that’s what she wants, she’s trying to get me all riled up but I don’t know why. I’m calm now. I close my eyes and

With brute strength, I throw her, causing her to tumble across the room. She breaks her fall using her forearms and knees leaving cuts and bruises. There is blood on the floor. Myrtle swiftly gets and fetches her red scarf of the old dresser and heads for the door as if she her got hurt. My eyes are still shut; I’m frozen. Myrtle ran out of the garage screaming. *“Beat me! Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward”! I finally regain consciousness and look at my hands; it is as if I have blood all over them. I instantly swivel head and sprint towards the door. Just as I reach the doorstep, the deed is