Personal Narrative: The Bermuda Triangle

A voyage to the land of the Go-Fasters. I have seen many strange countries in my travels, but never one so strange as this. I was on a flight straight from the coast of Miami, Florida to Mauritania to see the Mauritanian desert crater. I was kind of worries because the flight path was headed straight through the Bermuda Triangle.

The Bermuda Triangle is blamed for many disappearances. Everything from boats, to planes, to famous individuals. Anything that passes through this zone and was never heard from again is usually said to have been engulfed by the Bermuda Triangle.

When travelling, it all seemed to be going smoothly. My fears of my flight were dissipating, and I had even began to doze off. I assume I fell asleep, due to having no recollection of how or when I happened upon this strange place that I was in. I woke up in a bed large bed, in a room much like my own. I was alone. I did not know what had happened, but all I knew is that I wasn’t in Mauritania. I got out of bed, thankfully still dressed in the clothing I had worn

on the flight. I walked to the window and opened the curtains; looking out, I saw a luscious green pasture with wooden fences and many livestock. I walked to the door and turned the knob, but it would not budge. It was locked. I sat back down on the bed, and turned on the television. The channel that it was on was the news. Not like the news I had been used to though. The newscasters were speaking English, but it was all so fast that it sounded to me like gibberish. I could only make out a few words within every sentence. I turned the television off, confused and worrisome. As soon as I turned it on, a female walked into the room. She was dressed up, and looked vaguely familiar. She began speaking to me, but just as with the television, I could not even begin to comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. I could put enough together to understand that she was trying to acquaint herself with me. She was telling me that her name was Shakayla and that this was her home that I was in and she had found me in her attic. Neither of us knew how I had ended up there. We decided to resort to writing as our form of communication. We talked like this for a few days. I helped her keep her farm in order, and in return she fed me for the extent of my stay.
It was all so real, but at the same time it had the essence of a dream.

As the days went on, it all seemed to blur and become more and more a figment of my imagination. One day while milking the cow, she became agitated and kicked me off of my milking stool. It was at this moment that the whole world began to shake. I got back up and looked around and I was staring at the back of the seat in front of me. I was back on my flight through the Bermuda Triangle on my way to Mauritania, and a kid behind me was repetitively kicking my seat. The flight attendant was rattling on the intercom warning us that turbulence was about to begin due to us landing on the runway.

My whole world was merely a dream. My worries of being lost forever in the Bermuda Triangle had become a sort of reality in my own mind. I went on to see the desert crater, fly back to Miami, and I had a wonderful bedtime story to tell my future children for years to

come.