Personal Narrative-Home

John leaves the hospital, and catches a cab to 221.B. When he hears the sounds of muffled groaning coming from behind the door. "Sherlock?" John calls.

After his lunch break, Tom didn’t have long to wait before the paramedics burst in through the swinging double-doors of the ambulance bay wheeling in a young man on a gurney. Edward, a veteran EMT, recited the vital signs to Tom and Dr. Greene as they helped push the gurney into the trauma room,

After being escorted by the police to the hospital me and Ponyboy dashed with excitement to Johnny’s room. Before we could get even an inch in the door the doctor stopped us in our tracks. The doctor said “he is dying”. Before I could think I pulled out two-bit's switchblade. I wasn't going to let some punk doctor keep me from seeing my friend. Instead of what I thought the doctor was going to do he let us see Johnny.

This shows how they are nervous about what will happen next. Johnny takes action, without thinking much about how that moment will affect their future. Instead, he took action to protect his friend. Soon it kicked in, “Johnny!” I nearly screamed.

“We need you to be safe at the moment, get some rest. Besides, you need those frostbit blotches on your face checked on.” It took Turner an immense amount of strength to even stand. He knew they were correct.

Derek screams while thrusting himself into a sitting position in the uncomfortable hospital bed, and the pain which he felt earlier commenced. A nurse ran in and began checking Derek’s vitals making sure that his body wasn't in shock or shutting down. “Your fine,” the nurse with bags under her gray eyes stated. “Don’t yell unless you are dying.”

That still body back in the hospital wasn’t Johnny. Johnny was somewhere else- maybe asleep in the lot, or playing pinball machine in the bowling alley, or sitting on the back steps of the church in Windrixville. I’d go home and walk by the lot, and Johnny would be sitting on the curb smoking a cigarette, and maybe we’d lie on our backs and watch the stars. He isn’t dead, I said to myself. He isn’t

"It's OK, Wally. You're going to be OK. I promise. That bastard will come no where near you ever again. Not while I am around. No one will let him near you." When Wally continued to look doubtful, Roy continued. "I know what's going through your head. You can stay here as long as you need. You don't have to go back there. And Barry and Iris will be back soon. It'll all be OK." He hesitated a moment before he stood up and wrapped his arms around the still trembling younger redhead. "Things will be OK."

I remembered Johnny—his face all cut up and bruised, and I remembered how he had cried when we found him, half- conscious, in the corner lot.

"He… He just got so angry and he started throwing things and then… then he got a hold of me and I tried to get him to st-top. Everything hurts so much Roy."

"Did the hit you received yesterday knock out all of your brain cells?" She snaps, "You don't give patients false hope, not when it's a bad case like that."

“What happened?” the doctor asked. In response, she motioned her hand back and forth. Nodding, the doctor gently examined the wound, careful to not induce additional pain.

“How you feeling Johnny? I’m nervous as I’ll get out, but if we stick together we should be all right.”

“‘Come on, Johnny, we're running away.’” Johnny already has a lot of stress and grief, and will break like he did in the

“You must have fallen and hit your head. Are you ok? We need to make sure your heads all right, you’re saying