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Personal narrative


            The sun was blazing, shining its bright rays over my delicate head. As I looked over the ball was slicing through the air, right at me. .
             I trapped it quickly with high skill and intellect. And from that point is when it all started.
             Next I found myself sprinting down the field with the hard wind grazing the grass blades against my legs. .
             Without further hesitation I passed the ball to my nearby teammate. Sweat dripped down my face as I tried to make my dry crispy mouth wet with somewhat quenching saliva. I had a burst of adrenaline as I quickly overlooked my fellow teammate who was struggling and needed assistance. There I stood behind him as possibilities ran through my mind of what could happen next. I was anxious for him to get the ball and make a nice hard well set up pass to him.
             Then it happened, I heard this loud screeching noise ringing my ears deafening me for a split second. I gandered over my left broad shoulder to catch a glimpse of the referee holding up a yellow card on me. With letting my anger take over my aggression, I blasted the ball at the referee. That thing sailed like a missile through the air just barley whizzing bye his bulbous head.
             Then with sweat running of my body like a flowing river of me I walked off the field with the sun sizzling my jersey to my back. The parents all gave a supporting, "Boo!" because they too knew that I had done nothing wrong to deserve such a punishment. .
             I remember that day as a symbol of my mistakenly wrong-doing after only trying to do the right. From this day forward I try not to remember what went wrong that day. It is better left unsaid. For it always seems to bring nothing but a scowl to my precious face. However, there was a lesson to be learned from all of this mishap: don't kick the ball at the ref. .
            


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