Matt Watson's Troubles-Personal Narrative

Lying uncomfortably on his side, on top of his stiff, springy mattress, Matt Watson stared with locked eyes up at a small dot on the ceiling. Nothing was interesting about it, nothing about was special, it was just there and that was all Matt cared about at the moment.

Friends had come and gone in his past like a rich, chocolate cake, waiting to be devoured at a birthday party. One of these friends had actually brought him to the horrible hole in life where he was now, but through the year and a half he had spent in the Tripton, Tennesee, Correctional Facility, that puny dot was his companion through it all. Every night, including this peculiar one, Matt gazed at this small, circular, imperfection that rested on the smooth, gray ceiling,

on Monday, April 21st, 2018, but Matt Watson had no clue. All he knew, was that he was not even halfway through his prison sentence, and didn 't really care what day, month, or season it was. He just wanted out. Matt’s irritated and bloodshot eyes fluttered as he was slowly taken under by tiredness. Slowly and quietly, he breathed in the cold, still, air of his cell, in deep breathes, occasionally having to moisturize his mouth to get rid of the sticky and dry feeling that covered it. Eyes closed and half asleep, Matt regained consciousness to a faint, quiet, sound that brought him to a stiff sitting position. It was similar to the sound of a ceiling fan, but unfortunately, he did not have that kind luxury in his cell.

The sound was getting louder and the walls and ceiling began to tremble ever so slightly. Turning from a flutter into a rumble, the noise was directly over his cell now. Matt Watson stared intently at the small dot on the dull, gray, roof of his cell, as his room suddenly began to shake. Small particles of dust, sprinkled and scattered from the ceiling to the floor like snow flurries on a good winter day. Like the eye of a destructive hurricane, the roaring sound suddenly stopped and life seemed to