Personal Narrative for English!

"But why would an entire litter of kittens die...?" Mommy's voice spoke to Gramma from a distance.
*Amy had been missing for weeka, nonetheless, the family was estatic when we found her. She was an indoor cat, a beautiful one, too. She had long, gorgeous white fur that would mislead a blind man to think it was silk. We found her waiting patiently on the porch one random evening. I remember her being dirty that day, so we gave her a bath. But something was different about her, she acted less friendly. She was more lathargic than usual, and there was a sense of weight gain about her.

The room was dark, rain knocked against the windows, screaming, "Thunder!" to let it in. I wasn't afraid, as long as I was inside the house I'd be fine; the storm couldn't hurt me then. Having the lights on helped, as well.
Being five-years-old in your room during a storm can get quite boring. I was playing with my favorite Barbie doll when I heard Amy meowing in my closet. I smiled, slightly confused, yet pleased that I could play with the cat. I loved Amy, she used to be so much fun...

I approached the tense meowing. It came just behind the closet door. Behind that door revealed a tortured, terrible truth. A truth too brutal for a five-year-old's eyes. Ignorance is bliss to the child who doesn't need to know what the world really holds in store for the people that inhabit it. Children are too innocent to want to know such things; which is why I smiled at the sight of...

Amy quieted once I opened the door. To my astonishment, she wasn't alone. Laying next to her were five newborn kittens. I was so excited, I hurried down the stairs, quick to tell Mommy the news of the recent delivery.
"Mommy! Gramma!" I nudged them and jumped up and down repeatedly until I sure of having their full attention.
"Whaaaat?!" Mom yelled. She was aggravated that I had interrupted her and Gramma's argument.
I was still bouncing as I shouted, "AMY HAD KITTENS!" Her and Gramma exchanged looks and immediately got up. Mom asked where they were, while Gramma was babbling on and on about who knows what.

I lead them back to my room, and then to the closet. Mom's excited face fell dramatically as she stared at the kittens within the closet. She motioned for Gramma to look and the same look overcame Gramma as well. Mom picked up a kitten. It was too adorable, yet at the same time, too still. Its nose wasn't like Amy's. Her's was hot pink, and wet. But no, this little kitten's was all too pale. The only resemblance of Amy was his lovely fur, although even that seemed to be hard, and cold to the touch.

Gramma's face was horrified- utterly horrified. She took the kitten into her hands, or palms I should say, and carressed it for what seemed hours. A tear rolled down her cheek, tracing her wrinkles. In that very second, though, she switched from sad mode, straight to panic mode. She took the still kitten and began rubbing it roughly, spitting out biblical verse that I couldn't comprehend.
"Oh Lord Jesus, heal this kitten's soul, please in the power of the Lord, our savior, Jesus Christ, please bring this kitten back back to this life, he has just been born, oh Jesus. Please God..." And it trailed off into an abyss of nothingness.
"Quit it! You're going to tramatize Cassaundra!" Mommy yelled. But Gramma ignored her plea, and continued. She sounded like white noise in the background. Mommy put the kittens in an old T.V. cardboard box. I was flustered, all the choas was making my head hurt. I was sleepy. All I wanted to do now was take my nap, and then play with the kittens. I was frustrated and began to cry.
"Look what you did!" Mommy screamed. But as always, Gramma ignored her and continued.
"...These kittens need a vet, Michelle" said Gramma. Mommy was obviously overwhelmed. She always does this sort of growl when she she's angry, as a matter-of-fact, she still does it to this day.
She told Gramma to get out and to take the kittens with her if she wanted to waste her own money on an emergency vet bill. But Gramma left empty handed. She had the same, tortured face as she di when she first saw the kittens. After all this drama, Mommy went to make a couple phone calls in her room, unconsciously leaving the cardboard coffin behind her.

Silence is golden, but sitting within the silence can only be disturbing. I walked towards the box, gazing at what I thought were five sleeping kittens. So still they laid, right on top of eachother, carefully arranged. One kitten's tongue was sticking out, he looked quite silly. Forgive me for laughing at him. I reached down to pet each kitty, ever so slightly, so I didn't awaken them. Their bodies were slightly chilled, and strangelt stiff. I smiled, and went to take my nap.

Everyone remembers the first time they've experienced death. Whether it be their mother, their father, or just an old pet. I had no idea what it meant to be still born. To a child, there is no devastation, or darkness, in this hollow world. But, in reality, we live to die. We go through losses, learn from them; oonly to continue our quest to death. These kittens never experienced life. When I found Amy, she was on the opposite side of my closet in solitude. Her kittens were harmonized in a scatter, away from her. And this is what nature does, it leads mothers to repress their children is they are defiled.
My mother tried to stop Gramma, begged her to stop talking. Warned her that she might tramatize me. In the end, it was too late. The damage was already done. There's nothing more depressing than a dead kitten.

Well... Nothing that is, besides five dead kittens.