Personal Narrative: Motorcycle Boy

I was in the hospital. How long had it been? I remember gunfire, police cars, and shattering glass. I looked ‘round the hospital room and everything was black ‘n white! Then, it came back to me. Breaking into the pet store, Motorcycle Boy getting shot. I guess part of it was losing’ my colour vision. I looked to the door and saw a familiar figure walking by. “Steve!” I tried to say, without much success. I must’ve made some noise, because Steve looked my way. His mouth started moving, but I didn’t hear nothin’. My hearing had cut out, just like Motorcycle Boy. Just like Motorcycle Boy. I had become more like him than anyone had expected. Steve gave me a sad look, turned around, and kept on walkin’. I tried to sit up, but a had a searing
It hurt to stand, but I could stand, and I had been hurt more than that before. A few rooms over, there he was. He was sitting on a bed with someone. “Hey,” I said softly. He turned around, tears in his eyes. “Hey,” he sniffled. “I just… who's that?” I pointed to the bed. “My mom!” he yelled. He never yelled. “What’s wrong with her?” “Don’t you ever listen, Rusty-James? She had a stroke, and she’s dying!” “Who’s this, Steve?” his mother croaked. “It’s… it’s just…” “Is he your friend? You seem like you’ve known him for years!”
“I...I,” Steve mumbled.
“Get out! Now! You know what I think about lying!”
“Great job Rusty-James, you’ve just ruined another life,” said Steve, with resentment in his voice.

That really hit home for me. At that moment, I realized I might’ve just lost Steve his mother's love. I never had that, and look how I turned out. Then I realized; I should leave. Start a new life. But where to go? California. Start anew with my mom, stop ruining people's lives. Motorcycle Boy had given me his motorcycle in his will. I got out of the hospital in the middle of the night, easily enough. I got the motorcycle and took off for The Golden
I know everything about him!”
“That’s a little weird, but you have what I want. So, can you tell me where he lives?”
“Yeah, he lives in L.A” So I left for L.A.

L.A is huge, and I spent hours looking for some sign of my mom, but I found nothing. I settled down in an alley for the night. Some homeless guy was in the alley with me. He was quiet for a while, but then he started talking. “You look familiar,” he said, out of nowhere. “Well, I’ve never been here before,” I said, only half paying attention. “There was this guy, maybe 20, who went to visit a movie star, and he was let right in! You look like him.” Now, I was paying attention. “You think I look like him?” “Yeah, are you two related?” I didn’t reply, I just thought, “I guess that guy in the bar was wrong.” I got some sleep, then kept looking.

I found the place after another few hours. When I looked in, I saw two people, living a happy life together. Then I looked at myself; dirty, tired, broken, and I realized if I went to live with my mom, I would probably ruin another life. Another person who had it better than me, and I would ruin it so I could have it better for myself. “Bye Mom,” I said quietly, and walked away, into the