Narrative Writing Assignment: Final Draft

Submitted by: Jonathan Yao Carroll

English 1 (F)
Mrs. Neese
November 7, 2016

Personal narratives allow you to share your life with others and vicariously experience
the things that happen around you . . . write a story or account of an event that you experienced.

Get up, Jonathan, lets go. You have to get up now!

I awoke hurriedly at the sound of my father, wondering what had just happened. Why
was he speaking so urgently? Was I dreaming? I rubbed my eyes, and sat up. Three oclock.
Whats going on? Again I heard his voice.
Lets go, Jonathan, get in the car!
I followed his instructions and jumped out of bed in worn and wrinkled pajamas. They
were soaked in sweat, looking like I had just plunged into the nearby Schuylkill River. I quickly
took off my T-shirt and replaced it with an almost identical one. Darting out of my bedroom
door, I rushed down the steps like a cheetah chasing after its prey. I was somewhat frightened,
but realized that having a panic attack wouldnt help me whatsoever. Slipping on my navy blue
sneakers, not bothering to adjust the velcro straps, I sat down in the back row of our 2001 silver
Toyota Camry. Next to me was my younger sister Anna. She had just recently turned three years
old, and was staring at the headrest straight in front of her, tears forming in her eyes. It was
obvious that she was petrified. As she clutched her stuffed Pooh Bear in her small, clammy
hands, the tears began to stream down her face.
Anna, well be all right. Dont worry, look at Pooh! Mommy and Daddy will be here
soon. I tried to comfort her, but it was to no avail.
Suddenly, I heard a series of groans coming from back inside the house. They gradually
became increasingly louder Ugh . . . Kevin, help me . . . and sounded like my mother. Was
it her? I sat with my sister as an innocent six-year-old, wondering what was occurring back

inside the house. Why were we sitting in the back of our sedan at three oclock in the morning?
Then my mother entered our garage, making her way down the wooden steps carefully, yet as
slow as a sloth. She held her oh, that was it! My mother was pregnant, and it was then I
realized that she was about to give birth.
Get your seatbelts on, said my father. It was easy to tell that he was anxious and
exhausted. He had barely slept during the night, finishing his work a mere three hours ago. His
eyes resembled a bloodhounds, sagging and tinted pink. We abruptly pulled out of the driveway
faster than we had ever done so before, and sped through our neighborhood and onto the main
roads. The ride to the hospital felt like eternity. With each hill or sharp turn, my mother would
let out a loud cry, frightening my sister to the point of sheer terror. After forty-five minutes of
moans and cries, my family arrived at the hospital, and we all entered one small and stuffy room.
As my eyes began to flutter with fatigue, nurses and other hospital staffers moved rocking chairs,
barren cots, and a load of worn-out blankets into the room for us to sleep on. I soon fell onto the
top of a cot, and stared directly at the pitch-black ceiling, wondering what was to come. The
following day, I had a new baby sister.