Analysis of Being Frightened

Sitting in my grandma and grandpa’s bedroom with six of my cousins, the only light was coming from the flashlight. I was six years old, and scared out of my mind. We were playing a game called Light as a Feather and Stiff as a Board. There wasn’t really any point in the game, except having fun with my cousins who I rarely got to see. My oldest cousin Tara, who was 16 at the, time sat at the front of the bed. My other cousin Meghan, who was ten, always volunteered to go first. The rest of us would sit around Meghan and lift her up saying Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board, and then we’d gently lay her back down on the bed. Tara would put Meghan’s head on her lap and massage her temples and tell the story of Meghan’s death. At the end we’d lift Meghan up again, and say Light as a Feather, Stiff as a board. My brother Josh, who was also ten, went next. We’d do the same thing for him, except he’d have a different story. Everybody’s story was different, but all of them would have something in common. Death.
My cousin Taylor, who was a year younger than me, went before me. Even though we were going from oldest to youngest. I was scared, no, petrified. I hated getting my story told about my death. It was uncomfortable and overwhelming. When it came to my turn, I had Tara tell my story as a good one. She did, and I was grateful. Now if I could change my story, I would. Now were too old. Tara is twenty-five, and Meghan passed away when she was thirteen. It wouldn’t be the same as it used to be when I was scared out of my mind.