week 5 theme narrative

John, I wrote this story in mind for week 5 prompt #20 (the battle begins) but after I read it a couple times, I thought it may be a worthy piece for my narrative essay of the week. Let me know if it can be used here, otherwise, I'd like permission to tag it under one of my 3 prompts due for the week and I'll do another for my blog.


I was the oldest of 3 siblings and my mom was a single parent, so we spent a lot of time home alone after school waiting for her arrival after work. Because of my seniority, mom trusted I’d always do the right thing, not by choice I’m sure, but I was the oldest and was supposed to set a good example for my brother and sister. I’ll tell you there were times my little brother would really piss me off, seriously piss me off so bad I wished him dead. Looking back it’s hard to believe that a kid so little was able to push my buttons at such an early age, or was it I already had buttons that could be pushed being so young? Not sure…but when my brother had a tantrum he would shake all over, his eyes would get as wide as saucers, and he’d ball up in fists up in rage and yell “BULL POWER”!! And I knew we were all in trouble. Although he was a little guy, he was as strong as an ox; I was actually frightened of him when he went into to this state of anger. Once, when he was a toddler, he dragged me across the kitchen floor by the head of my hair…. this is the kind of strength I’m talking about.

Anyway, one day after school I was ordering him to clean his room before mom got home from work. He argued of course, but I didn’t let up; I kept on him so he could help with out with the other chores. It ended up getting into a you’re not the boss of me, you can’t make me, I’m telling mom and then he spat at me, so I slapped him in the head. He immediately pushed me out of his room and I landed on my ass and the battle began. I went back into his room and tore all the blankets off his bed, he followed suit, ran into my room and did the same to my bed. I stormed back into his room in and knocked everything off his dresser, he did the same to mine. I went back at it by tearing off a corner off his favorite poster and he went back by tearing ALL my posters into shreds. “That’s it”!! I screeched at him “this is war”!! Suddenly I started to grin because I knew I was gonna win this one….I thought to myself, you want to play dirty you fucker I’m gonna trash what’s most important to you, your model cars. But the very moment I stomped his favorite 1964 GTO model he spent hours on into a pile of painted plastic, he lost it. His face got all red, his fist clenched at his side, the shaking started and when the BULL POWER horn sounded off, I went running!! SHIT!!! I flew up those stairs as fast as my legs would take me cause I knew if he caught me, I was gonna get the shit kicked outta me!! I ran into the coat closet (it was a walk in) and held on to the door handle for dear life. My heart was racing with anxiety and fear; “shit, shit, shit, I pushed him too far, shit, I’m going to die” I kept repeating over and over. He was screaming in fury and I was screaming in terror as my arms started to tire protecting myself from him in the coat closet. I even went as far as propping my feet on either side of the door, still hanging on with all every ounce of strength I could muster, sweat pouring off my face. Thankfully, mom came home and my life was spared. Needless to say, she was pissed when she saw our bedrooms trashed and no housework was done. I didn’t care, I got to live another day.