Personal Narrative: Ricson Changed My Life

“Hey Mac, I’m low on cash, but me and my buds really need a cigarette or two. Mind if I borrow a few bucks?” Tray slowly said as he walked up to me sitting on the outside bleachers of our school. My eyes shot to his pocket as he slowly pulled out a knife I had seen many times before. My fists clenched, I quickly breathed, and as I bit my cheek tasting warm blood, which didn’t help, the adrenaline rush started.
As I sat trying to hold myself, Tray grinned and his two goons chuckled to each other. He steadily inched the knife closer and closer to me. They were idiots to think they would get pity this time. I didn’t want anything to happen but I was done holding out for people like them. Once it starts it’s a beast that slowly feeds, then you snap!
The edge of the pitiful weapon was just about to meet my chest when the saving

My pace quickens as I’m just about to burst, when I recognize my cul-de- sac in the distance. By then I was sprinting and the rage was enough to kill me. I bash through the front door of my quiet hopeless house, and jump over the railing of the stairs. I tore open my bedroom door throwing my backpack toward the wall as I confronted my savior. My ragged, old, patch work punching bag. Immediately I thrusted my fist into the sorry excuse for a stress reliever. Back and forth my clenched hands swung, full of rage, pain, and anger. Calluses were plastered across my knuckles from constant meets with my torn comforting punching bag.With every swing the memories slowly die after they are shown to me like a horror movie, and I have front row seats.

The pain all started when I was nine years old. We were playing Monopoly and I had just bought Boardwalk.
My dad was a trusted employee and financial adviser of the President of a major Insurance company called Fualtin. My father was trusted advisor so he was given access to