Personal Narrative: The Murder Of My Father

“Citlalee, pack the maize on the canoe” father shouted. “Yes papa”.
Each morning, under the newly erupted sun, my father and I haul corn from the dense fields in the valley, all the way to the heart of Tenochtitlan. The trek last several hours and leaves my father and I with excruciating pain upon completion. After we gather a large enough load from the valley, we pack it onto the canoe in order to bring it to the homeland. To help relieve my dad from his discomfort and pain, I grab the paddles as my dad begins to rest his head on the stacks of corn. His eyes slowly close and he falls dormant after several grimices that shoot throughout his body and come out of his facial expressions. I take a breath, resecure my grip on the paddles and start

They were brought up in the lowest social class of Tenochtitlan. Their father was a hysteric drunk who dealt in smuggling and other extremist ways to make a penny. When my father and uncle were just small boys, their papa was captured and seized by a group of 3 warriors and taken directly to the Emperor’s Palace to be tried for the murder of an aztec priest. It turns out, my abuelo made a deal with the wrong people of Tenochtitlan, and it landed him in deep water. Concluding, one night of imprisonment in the Emperor's Palace, he was found guilty and was sacrificed to the gods during the following sun rise, leaving my father and uncle with a severe drought of resources in their already ran down home. Throughout my uncle and father’s childhood, they resorted to petty theft and crime throughout the city. Stealing handfuls of beans each day from the busy marketplace to pass by as lunch, and sneaking into neighbor's homes to find scraps and clothing in order to simply maintain. Anyways, while dealing with severe struggle and hardship each day, my uncle and father aged to become some of the most creative scavengers, and resourceful grownups in the entire city. However, due to harsh and unfair social system of Tenochtitlan, they have been treated as dirt their whole life, and most likely so will

“In thirty years, I have never seen anything like this” responded another townsperson.
After ages of fighting and squirming through the giant crowd, I finally saw the light reach through the end of the mass of civilians. As I looked up, I noticed several figures equipped with silver shining clothing from head to toe. A noble priest of Tenochtitlan took charge as he established his lead among the group of Aztec townspeople.
“I am Hernán Cortés of the homeland of Spain, present your leader immediately” declared the man embarked in silver.
The priest was left with total astonishment, just like the crowd. Unable to articulate any words, the noble priest nodded his head and whispered something to one of his assistants. Following a brief reply, the assistant made way toward the Emperor's Palace, for our great leader Cuauhtemoc must be made aware.
“Won't you let us march to your leader now?” questioned the Spaniard.
“No sir, you and your people must not enter the holy palace, Cuauhtemoc shall come to you, right here” answered the priest.
“Move out of my way” Hernan looked toward his small but well equipped spanish party and yelled “move