Personal Narrative on Morals

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As I was walking down church avenue, all I could think about was my Iphoneless pocket. “Freaking black people,” I mumbled under my breath as to not let the crowds of black people around me hear, “you can never trust them.” The sight of them just burned my eyes. Them and their sagged pants that looked like they had 100 pound weights in their pockets, disgusting. As I walked on, the only thing that was roaming around my mind was a memory I was trying so hard to forget. It wasn't a full memory though just, bits and pieces. It was of a black kid. I don't remember any of his features, I didn't want to. “Hey can I make a call,” he said. I wasn't the type of person to judge anyone, I mean why should a person's skin be a factor in anyone's decision to do something. This teenager could have been the nicest person in the world. So I gave him my phone. The memory then cuts to me standing there gasping for air saying, “ Nicest guy in the world my butt.” That was all I remembered, but it was enough. Enough to drive my anger towards black people, which for me, meant my entire neighborhood. How could I have been such an IDIOT, I said in my head as I walked down the block. I should have seen this coming. I mean he was bla-, I was in mid-thought, when suddenly a black woman, who looked like she could lose a few pounds, bumped into me as she was going the direction opposite of me. “Watch where you're going,” she said. I could hear the anger and annoyance in her voice. My blood started to boil, my heart raced, I was ready to punch someone. I turned towards her “ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME. Maybe you should lay off the fried chicken ” is what I wished to say, but I held my breath. I just stared at her back as she walked away. As I treaded along Church avenue, I spared no black person who came within my line of sight of my racist comments. I didn't care if it was wrong. I mean did that black kid care if it was wrong to steal my phone. Obviously not, because then I wouldn't be...
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