I would like some feed back on this rough draft narrative essay. Please be nice, but let me know what can be changed for my final. The professor really liked it. However, I need to make amount of changes for the final, and can not seem to find much. So, with that in mind; be nice and grade me.
Narrative essay.
It was a typical day back in High School, which started out like any other going into second period choir. I almost hated my instructor for making me feel like this class was a bit of a joke to her. This was due to the fact that she had her other, more significant, choir. Her cherished performance chorus, which focused a lot more on dancing than actually singing, and for this reason they sounded terrible. So, there I stood uncomfortably on the risers ready to sing the same songs in the same key; ready to hit all of the same notes that we practiced every day and were rarely corrected for. To get through the grueling songs, I practically grated my teeth and sang these monstrosities she had us belting out like a group of dying crows. Finally getting through this routine, our gracious teacher let us take the last twenty or so minutes to just sort of relax, or fall asleep; as usual proving that we were the punch line of a joke she forgot to tell us about. Seeing how she did not care about that time what so ever, but this was free time and I was not about to argue with her letting us use it. So I sought out my partner of the class, a very beautiful girl with a sense of style similar to my own. We liked to take that half hour and just sort of cuddle with each other in the right corner of the room and just watch the rest of the class act like troglodytes. That was just what half of them did too, but that did not matter to me and my friend, Demonia. We were resting upon each other, taking turns laying a head on one another’s shoulder. Despite watching the half crazed high school vigilantes, I began to relax with this girl. I never thought that the smell of mold could be so soothing, but for once the putrid smell of the room did not bother me. In my ethereal like mode I closed my eyes, and for once wanted this period prolonged.
It was at this point, that I meant to check the time when, I happened to notice another student walk toward a particular hallway. This hallway was located at the very end of the class room just to the left of the risers, and had in it a variety of musical junk. At the moment I noticed her walking through to greet her friends, it happened. A tall, upright in style, piano had gone down with a horrendous crash. Everyone turned their heads to see what had happened, as the bewildered victim only sat down. She looked straight ahead and in a very dry tone of voice said “Ouch that hurt.”
I sprang up but did not go further, thinking that if she had felt anything from the thunderous thud of the piano, maybe it was a bit more serious than she reacted. It was at that moment of intense confusion that I noticed, along with others, what appeared to be a gaping hole from this poor girls’ leg. The air seemed heavy, as if a weight could be felt upon our heads, and everything moved in slow motion. No blood, no screaming, no reaction to what appeared to be a tear into about three or more inches of flesh, made things even more frightening. As the class stared at the visible white bone of her leg, our teacher ran to the phone. As things seemed to speed up, the weight began to flow away, and so did the blood. It began to gush out like an angry red river. It was at this moment the screaming began. I’ll never forget the sound that practically gargled from Jessica’s throat; it was the sound of fear, of pain and of uncertainty. Amidst the rush and excitement of the incident, I hardly noticed the paramedics until they were at her leg. Wondering where it was that the medical persons came from, I turned and noticed the stretcher. It was the same ones found in the emergency room, metal frames that ended in wheels and in the middle of light blue cotton. It was at this moment it occurred to me that whatever pain it was that she felt now would be magnified about tenfold when they need to move her. As this thought arose, I heard it. It was the sound of my exact thoughts, and she screeched out a sound that can only be likened to an extreme amount of pain. They were lifting her leg trying to straighten it, despite her desperate attempts to do otherwise. Her frantic cries got louder and louder as she pleaded for them not to touch her or her leg. I can only imagine what this might have been like, pleading to not be helped, knowing that they were the only chance her leg had. The class now stopped all movement, and seemed awe struck; another girl huddled in the opposite corner of the room and began to sob at the sight of her best friend in anguish. “No, don’t!” the victim yelled in a less than human tone as the rescuers lifted her into the air. However, when she was finally hoisted into the stretcher, her cries began to quite down.
Tubes and other devices that were, of course, unknown to me were placed inside of the wound to stop the bleeding, and as they did this they demanded action from one another. She seemed not to notice this, but rolled her head agitatedly around the edge of the cotton canopy. After situating the devices inside the pool of blood and bone, they rushed out. The class ran to the window, which was ironically in that hallway, just in time to see the ambulance that no on had noticed arrive, take off at a ludicrous speed. With its leaving, the event was over, and like any disaster the students felt the aftermath. They were crying and praying loudly for their friend in the hopes that she will be fine, as well as her leg. By the time everything had stopped, and the ambulance had sped away, the period bell had rung. This was signal for everyone to clear out and head for the next class everyone had on the agenda for the day. Normally, however, the conductor would give us permission to leave, but she was locked up in her office talking on the phone paying no mind to anything else. Who could blame her; it was probably of the utmost importance to be on the phone at the moment filling an accident report or something of similar magnitude.
Just like that I needed to just leave and attempt to forget about the event that had just taken place, but I did in vane. The rest of the day was plague by the grotesque vision and helpless, nonhuman screams bellowing from the sufferer’s throat. I still remember that day even four years from the time it happened.
During our graduation ceremony, I happened to bump into the girl for the last time. I had asked about the situation, exclaiming my concern for her and the event that had taken place. Her reply seemed short but satisfactory, explaining that she was fine and wanted no reminder of the horrific event. I cannot blame her for such an outlook, and I would no doubt be surprised if she should ever willingly bring it up again.
