Personal Narrative-Ketchup's Life

It was the summer of 2015 in a small midwestern town, 30 miles north of Kansas. The sun was just starting to shine and the birds were beginning to chirp. I had just awoken from a long restful sleep. This was the best I have felt in months. A nasty cold had been hanging around for about two weeks. I felt refreshed and a little punchy. I went to wake my brother, he is 3 years older than me. It’s always funny to wake up a sixteen year old, especially Chuck, who stays up every night until 2 o’clock in the morning texting the love of his life, well the new love of his life, Bunny. After harassing Chuck for a few minutes, trying to get him out of bed, I decided I needed to take Pepper out for her morning run. You know Yorkies need their

It was intent on trying to get me to remove my hand. It wanted my ketchup. It thought my blood was ketchup. I tried to explain to him that blood isn’t ketchup, he wasn’t listening. He was coming right at me. I dodged to the left, and jumped into the corn stalks. It started axing the stalks away. I ran as fast as I could toward my house, but I could hear the humming of the potato above. After about six minutes, I was out of the corn field with my house only a few steps ahead. I looked behind me just in time to see the axe being swung toward my arm. I moved just in time. Through the grass and up the steps I ran, and slammed the door short. The fry began to chop at my door in a fierceful manner. I did the only thing I could do, I opened the refrigerator door, took out the ketchup and sprayed it all over the floor. When the fry finally broke the door down, it was amazed at the sight of red all over the lenoleom floor. It was so happy, it started to skate on it, swooshing back and forth. It asked me about this amazing ketchup and where it could find it, as it tasted some much better than the blood from the hand that it feasted on earlier. I read to him the back of the bottle, where it said Heinz Ketchup, made in Heinz,