Personal Narrative: Home

I grew up with my grandparents. We lived on a farm in the country seven miles out of town. Mostly surrounded by trees and fields, I called it home. There was a little over 6 acres of land for my childhood to explore. There was orchards of fruit and nut trees. There were also several buildings along the property, such as, a big blue barn, an upholstery shop, and the most decrepit, worn down horse stable you would ever see. My grandparents were thinking of the property. My Grandma was a real estate agent and had the license to do it herself. On one summer day, my grandma was showing our property to a man. She wasn’t supposed to be long, so she decided to leave me by myself in the upholstery shop office room. The room I was in was quite small. It had also just been redone. I was alone in the almost empty room with very few things to occupy myself. I was a child that found herself bored often, and because of my curiosity it usually wasn't hard for me to find stuff to do in my environment. All that resided in that small office room was a desk, a filing cabinet, plastic tarps on the carpet,

After she left I began to look around the room a bit more to see if there was anything interesting. The cardboard flaps of the boxes bent and dented as I forced them open. That musty smell filled the room. My fingers became dusty as I looked through the binders inside the

I stopped around four or five times. I thought the staple gun was empty because when I looked on the wood where I stapled, there wasn’t anything. I unplugged the staple gun and left it under the desk. I heard my grandmother's voice travelling into the building. I quickly got up and stood in front of the door. My grandma stopped in the threshold, the man behind her. She looked at me and I looked back at her. “Wh-what did you do?” she suddenly