The Death of Christen :: Personal Narrative Writing

The Death of ChristenIt snowed for three successive days after my grandmother died. I wouldnt think the two facts were think notwithstanding for the fact that the roads were all closed on the secondment day of the blizzard, and we were stuck at the wake all night long, like mortal or both(prenominal)thing was exhausting to keep us there. It was weird, spending the night with brain dead people. I wasnt alone, of course. There was my family, and then there were the Szerniaks and their dead father, and the corpse of some creepy guy promised William Manfred III who had apparently been abandoned at his accept wake because his family couldnt make it through the snow. I went in to visit him once, merely it was just too creepy in there by myself. My throw dead relatives were bad enough, thanks. I finished off another division of cold, greasy fried chicken from the fast food place close door and looked up. My uncle was still snoring in the corner, my cousin was still trying to l ook up my skirt (the perv) and my dad was still just academic term there in front of the coffin, candlelight tracing shapes around his eyes, swallowing the a few(prenominal) tears he had left to cry. My mother wasnt there...she was stranded like us, although she had it sparingly better. While we were here with a bunch of corpses, she was at least stuck in an office with hot coffee and her computer and stuff. She was probably having a blast. I wasnt. After a few more minutes of boredom, I persistent to get up, stretch my legs and look for some sort of entertainment. There was a television in a small lounge near the bathway, but it was currently being used as a smoking room by some nervous Szerniaks. I wasnt in the mood for bleached eyes and a hacking cough, so I avoided the low-tar menthol-flavored fog bank and went and traced my name on the ice that had formed on the inside of the outside scum door, watching the world swirl around outside as I tried to avoid getting slush on m y shoes. Thats how I met Christen. can buoy I sit here? she asked, sliding down the wall and set down with a thump on the floor across from me, knees drawn up tight because I was taking up most of the hallway.