Danielle Wright
26 April 2006
In class essay

A Special Appearance

After tossing and turning in bed for years, I managed to scratch my face most painfully. I screamed inside myself at the unexpected blow. While minutes turned to hours, and hours to days, I could think of none other than the giant gash I had unintentinally inflicted upon myself. My hands turned into writhing snakes that foamed at the mouth, that lashed out at my neck and poisened my skin. Then the sweats came, then the blurred vision, then the aching rashes, and finally, when I had given up all hope on life in the midst of my feverish state, the glaring blue lights from beyond my bed proved to be my saving grace. I was cured! I dashed out of bed, up the stairs, through the kitchen door and toward my bathroom in total darkness. The aquarium hummed in the background. I quickly stretched out my left hand in an attempt to flip the light switch and...BAM! Pain shot through my left hand and immediately travelled up my arm as pieces of my shattered fingernail flung themselves to the ground. I had hit a literary brick wall, but for now, let us call that wall a bathroom door that I forgot I had closed. Meanwhile, I recovered, opened the door, and flipped the light switch. After my long and arduous journey, I reached the mirror, gazed upon my reflection, and sunshine began filling the room from a distance away, and I began to hear heavenly voices. Or perhaps that was all in my head and I was just glad my face had survived the attack unscathed. Anyway, on this complex adventure, I now faced another task. My now broken fingernail needed immediate medical attention, or perhaps a slight trimming. I flipped off my bathroom light, because I have a small affinity for venturing through dark houses at one thirty-seven in the morning. I braved a long, dangerous trek to the living room for fingernail clippers. At last, I had survived. I had arrived somewhere near the dark vicinity of the living room lamp, and just as I extended my arm for the lamp chain, like a flash of lightning, a bright beam of light gleamed from my brother's bedroom doorway. And a silhouette appeared instantaneously in the hallway; a completely nude silhouette. It shrieked a shriek reminiscent to the sounds of a small pig caught in the talons of a hawk as it quickly ducked into the hallway bathroom and slammed the door. Silence. I chuckled to myself at the fact that either my brother was a natural-born streaker, or I had just witnessed a rare glimpse of the fabled Bigfoot, and I, unmoved by the humourous sighting, proceeded to trim my fingernail and made my way back to bed. Mission complete.