Personal Narrative: To Rose Hansel's Funeral

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I threw the paper down, and sprinted out the door. I turned down the hallway to the nearest staircase. My feet thudded on the wood, and my hands slid up the banister. I ran to my mom’s office, and burst through the door. I stopped. I looked around and saw an envelope on the rustic, wooden desk. I jogged forward, and picked it up. On the backside it read: To Rose Hansel. Before I can do anything else, I hear the phone ring downstairs. I carry the envelope with me back through my house to the kitchen. I interrupt the ringing by picking up the phone.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“Leave $100,000 in cash, under the porch of the old church by 9:00 tonight. Unless you don’t want to see your mother again,” My face went pale. The deep, comical

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