The Push Mower From Hell :: Personal Narrative, Autobiographical Essay

The Push Mower From nether region Its time to get up, son. Youve got work to do today. My fathers gravelly voice brought my loath(p) subconscious out of the realm of its peaceful slumber. How dare he, I wondered to myself, encumber my rest and force me awake on the most sacred of eld the Cartoon Sabbath. Still slightly disoriented, I went into the kitchen to feed myself a sphere of Cheerios and plant myself in front of a Winnie the Pooh rerun. I had scarcely consummate my third bowl when my father returned, somewhat angered. I believe that I told you that we were going to do some yardwork today. How about coming out and contribute a hand? I agreed meekly, owing to the fact that I had no desire to risk conflict with my father. After brushing my teeth and slapping on a tee shirt, shorts, and shoes, I trudged outside. The hot summer insolate beat down heavily on the back of my neck. Because of a confederacy of heat and fatigue, I felt as if I were drunk. I staggered o er to the riding lawnmower, relieved by the thought of being able to razz down while appeasing my parents at the same time. My brother, the impish teentsy troll that he is, having the same idea, had already confiscated the mower for his own narcissistic gain. He had left for the lot next door, which was easy to cut compared to the banks that I was left with. I gave him an evil glance that shouted my disapproval of his actions and marched towards the more than hated, seldom used push mower. The push mower was an angry, rust ridden, contrasted beast of ill intent. I dont think any ane in my family ever anticipate to have to use the beast, so it became more like a family witticism to see whom we could stick it to each time grass needed to be cut. It was temperamental and took at least five minutes of heavy clout on the unforgiving cord to finally get it started. It had at one time been a self propelled mower, but the chain broke yen ago, leaving a free spinning ge ar rotating dangerously burn up the operators low appendages. The machine gave off a low threatening growl, reminding us to approach it with a certain amount of animosity, if not respect.