The following account is true, and was written as a personal narrative assignment for my Sophomore or Junior year high-school English class. I received a score of 94%.
After a hard day of school, I decided to go to my friend's house. The time was around three o' clock p.m. My friend had a renter named Jack Johnson. He was a short old man, with a temper as hot as the fires of hell. Jack lived in one of the downstairs rooms. It was a small white room that smelled like old cigars, due to the fact that he chewed them. Jack didn't believe in a garbage system, so he threw his chewed cigars wherever he pleased.
One day, while watching television, I realized that I was bored. I decided to annoy Jack. As I was knocking on the door to his room, he swung it wide open. He seemed very angry at me, probably because I insulted his religion the day before. Suddenly, we both heard a loud bang. Rushing to look out the window, we saw his dirty car being water ballooned from the roof. I started to laugh, then stared at him. As he gazed out the window, I could see his fist tighten. I knew I was in danger the minute he turned to look at me. As I ran to the upstairs living room, I knew I was being followed. I realized my friend had been water ballooning his car. My friend had barely stepped off the roof and onto the balcony with water balloons in his hands, when I turned to notice the anger in the old man's eyes. As Jack was choking me with his wrinkled hands, I regretted ever talking to the man.
From that day, I never laughed at an old man, except Jack. I cherish the times I had bugging that old man, of course - he doesn't feel the same. Today, Jack lives with his friend Sal and regrets talking to teenagers.
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