Personal Narrative Essay

The crisp, cold November air hit me like a truck as I opened the library doors, making an overdue exit after practically two hours of studying.
It was only 5:45 p.m., but the sky—painted a midnight blue—seemed to think otherwise. It would have been completely dark outside if not for the small pools of light flooding the ground beneath the streetlights.
I began making my way home on the well-memorized path that I took practically every day, sighing when I thought about how I was one of the only seniors at my high school without a car. When I turned the corner onto my large neighborhood, a black van roared to life behind me—lingering a bit too close for comfort.
After a few agonizingly painful minutes of the van following me, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I debated what to do, taking into account the numerous movies involving suspicious black vans .

. . need I say more? I suddenly turned around and started walking faster in the other direction, hoping that I could just take a shortcut to get to my home.
“Just a coincidence. Nothing’s going to happen, I’m just being paranoid,” I muttered to myself—as if saying the words would make them true, despite the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
When I glanced behind me, I noticed the van turning back around in the direction I was going, gaining more speed than before. When it finally dawned on me that I was definitely being followed, a shot of adrenaline passed through my veins, coercing me to try and make a run for it.
Becoming increasingly nervous, I broke out into a run. As I was bolting across the street, desperately running for my life, I turned around to glance at the van. Despite my outlandish determination, the van was only a few feet away from

me.
It suddenly sped up faster than I thought possible, before going straight towards me. I covered my face with my arms, bracing myself for the collision.
When the lights from the headlights of the vehicle turned off, I confusingly pulled my hands down from my face, noticing that . . . well . . . I wasn’t dead.
I wearily glanced at my surroundings, noticing that the van had me practically cornered, with only a small opening towards the right of me
A masked, well-built figure came out of the vehicle. As the realization dawned on me that my fate was sealed, I began to feel sick, the situation feeling more and more surreal as time slowed.
Then panic set in, and I froze. Don’t get me wrong . . . I tried—desperately—to run. To move my feet and somehow get away. But they didn’t budge.

I stared at my attacker’s hypnotizingly ocean-colored orbs as he began walking towards me; his eyes never leaving mine.
And then something suddenly dawned on me. Something insane. Heck, it was psychotic. Batshit crazy.
I recognized him—the person under the mask.
How? By his eyes. I’ve only ever seen one pair of eyes with that color—a mix of ocean blue and sea green—in my entire life.
It was Aaron Freed. One of the most popular guys in school; not to mention my crush from junior high until sophomore year of high school.

My eyes widened in realization. “Holy crap,” I muttered.
Everything was in slow motion as I noticed him coming closer, taking long, casual strides towards me.
Then, suddenly, it finally sunk in that—for some reason unbeknownst to me—Aaron freaking Freed was trying to kidnap me.
And that was enough for me to blink out of my stupor. And run.