Personal Narrative

You don't realize how easily little things turn into big things until after you

wake up. I had been eating dinner with my family when I heard my favorite show's

finale announce itself on the T.V. upstairs. I packed in what was left on my plate,

thanked my parents for food, and excused myself from the table to throw my

dishes in the sink that was piling high with dishes. I dashed to the stairs and hit the

first step before my dad began to interrogate me with questions about school and

other things that had not involved my show that was now beginning without me. I

gave him words of assurance and darted for the couch. I turned up the volume and

let the character's reality drown out my own. Little had I known that the end of the

As I read an article about the show, my sobbing receded, and I learned my favorite

character would be coming back in the next season. I continued reading and in a

decline from crying so hard, I fell into a dream.

The next morning I woke up with puffy eyes, so I made my way downstairs

to pack my eyes with ice. I shuffled quietly across the floor trying not to alert my

dogs, making them bark. I seemed to be the only one awake as I turned the corner

to open our dog gate to the kitchen.

My next step was cut short.

I took in the dreadful display of many colors stacked high and shining silver

scattered among the counters. I could hear the shower running in my parent's room

from across the living room. Panic had subtlety crept its way into my stomach. I

began chanting “no, no, no,” as I began opening the dishwasher, as if it would

change that I had completely forgotten that last night was my night for dishes. I

got about halfway through unloading the dishes before my mom sauntered out of

her room and into the kitchen. She saw the disaster in the kitchen and glanced at

me. “Your dad is going to kill you.” she muttered without any inflection to her