The Stranger at my window

This essay is based on a personal experience I had that changed my point of view about strangers. It made me realize that you really cannot trust anybody, especially a stranger at your window. This heart pounding experience was one that I will never forget, and one that will follow me as I travel the streets of New York. I want to pass on this essay hoping that readers will learn from the experience I had that night.
A few years ago, at the beginning of my teenage years, I was a gullible person. Almost anything, someone would tell me I’d believe. For instance, someone once told me that scientists found a way to make pigs fly, and I believed him for a minute. It was funny at the time ...

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to school and for once, I found a good spot right in front. If I parked any closer, I would have made my own drive thru. As my friends and I made our way to our first class, I brought up a story that I heard on the news earlier that morning.
“Did you hear about the girl that was raped and killed last night?” I said to a group of my friends.
They all said yes and commented.
“That’s some crazy shit. They didn’t catch that guy yet, right?” said one friend.
“No,” I said.
“I can’t imagine how scared that girl was. I’m going to buy a can of mace when I get out of here,” said another friend.
“I’ll come with you!” shouted another. We all laughed and went our separate ways to our first class.
Two hours and twenty yawns later I was at lunch. I don’t usually eat anything there because the food is horrible. The pizza is so greasy when you pick it up it droops down and the grease drips off like a mini waterfall. The burgers taste like they’re from the week before and they were ...

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also not soft. He was a white male, about 5’ 8” or so, with brown hair and brown eyes. He was heavy set, but not obese. It was dark and I couldn’t see what he was wearing but there was blood, blood on his shirt! I think it was dry but that doesn’t matter, it was still blood. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from or if it was someone else’s. Why was this stranger at my window? What does he want from me? I kept saying to myself. He asked me if I could lower my window. I cracked it. Why? I don’t know, but I did. Enough for him to stick his fingers through, but not enough for him to put a hand or an arm through.
He said to me, “I just got my car stolen and I don’t have any money. I ...

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The Stranger at my window. (2011, March 9). Retrieved October 18, 2018, from
"The Stranger at my window.", 9 Mar. 2011. Web. 18 Oct. 2018. <>
"The Stranger at my window." March 9, 2011. Accessed October 18, 2018.
"The Stranger at my window." March 9, 2011. Accessed October 18, 2018.
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Added: 3/9/2011 12:18:55 PM
Submitted By: sdiscalo
Category: Personal Writing
Type: Premium Paper
Words: 2658
Pages: 10

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