Personal Narrative

The crack was deafening, and the kickback in my arms was like a flailing fish, just pulled from the sea. My bullet whizzed and I heard a sound of metal being hit by a bullet. I opened my eyes and saw a cloud of dust rising so far away from my target, I couldn’t believe it. The sound of a target being hit was from a more experienced shooter, hitting her target three rings from a bullseye. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jordan holding his gun, frozen like he had just seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong Jordan, is everything alright?” I said.

“Unlucky.” Was his only response. I sighed.

“Jordan, you don’t really think that because you stay in tent 13 that you have bad luck do you.” I was beginning to question how much this boy believed in bad luck.

We returned to our tents and changed out of our uniforms.

“Dude, you did so much better than me! I missed my target so many times!” Mark clapped me on the back and smiled at me. He has always been a cheery kid, smiling at me, giving me hugs when I’m sad, and being there to talk. We are like brothers without the bickering.

“Thanks! To be honest, I realized to survive, I would have to focus on being a different person when training than who I am outside of training.”

“I wish I could do that, I was on the verge of tears the whole time. It must have been the aftershock of being plucked from my home and dropped into this war.” Tyler murmured, changing back into his old clothes and looking like himself again. I heard a rustling behind us. Yet again, it was Brittany, peeking through the flap of our tent.

“Hey, I was told to get you guys, come with me.” She said, exiting the tent, but her forehead was creased with concern like a sheet of paper folded too many times. We exited our tent and made our way to another tent, cream in color, with a line of newcomers outside of it. “Here we are, all of you are required to have identification serial numbers tattooed on your wrist. Mine is