Port-a-Blast :: Personal Narrative Writing

Port-a-Blast I had been waiting in the cold, empty interrogation room for hours anticipating the dreaded arrival of the detective. It had to be one of the longest nights of my life waiting in anticipation to find out the consequences I was about to face. I had numerous thoughts running through my mind about how I was going to get out of this predicament. I was the last of four, Kevin, Chris, Brian, and I, to be interviewed. To my relief, I did not have to talk my way out of the crime I had committed, which seemed to have occurred days earlier. It was about ten o’clock on a brisk and lonely night in November of 2001 when we parked my car about 800 meters away from our target, the notorious port-a-potty, which was located on the west side of the park. My car was the only car in the parking lot, which turned out to be our biggest mistake of the night. We sat in the car for about ten minutes with thoughts racing through our heads of the getaway route we were going to take. We talked about what we would do if we got split up on the run back and where we would meet. We also made sure we emptied our pockets of cell phones, wallets, and anything else that we might drop, which could connect us to the scene. The walk through the park to the port-a-potty seemed to be one of the longest walks of my life. The anticipation and excitement was like that of a kid opening presents on Christmas Eve. We were not exactly sure what was going to happen when we would place the sparkler bomb in the port-a-potty, but we had a good idea and could not wait to find out. When we finally reached the port-a-potty, we were constantly on the lookout for passers-by. We ended up waiting about thirty minutes for the coast to clear. We did not want to take any chances, because we knew of the considerable distance we had to run. Kevin would be the one to light the sparkler bomb, while Chris, Brian, and I were on the lookout. We made sure we had our running shoes tied up tight one last time. As Kevin stepped into the port-a-potty, we waited about ten feet behind in a row of trees impatiently anticipating the lighting of the sparkler bomb.