Personal Narrative: The Park

This was the last thing I heard before I felt extreme agony from my broken wrist. I walk toward the hill with my shoes rubbing against the hard crunchy concrete. My shoes were being placed against the fine rocks. A breeze hit my face with the cool air smelling like the fresh lawn that had been cut by neighbors. The sun was out bright blinding my eyes temporary as I looked at it. Not one cloud to be seen. My heart was racing, scared to go down this hill. Giving myself time to be mentally prepared to go down.

I was ready all my friends and neighbors gathered around. My left foot is placed on the fine sand paper of my long board. I give myself a forceful push with my right foot on the black concrete. Both my feet are on the longboard and my wheels were rolling. My palms felt sweaty. I had a bitter taste in my mouth. The wheels were gliding fast on the concrete making a unique noise. A sound made by rubbing rocks against rocks. The sound gave me chills as my speed increased and the air hit me harder. My nose began to dry and my face was cold. My legs twitched as the adrenaline kicked in. My heart raced faster than the hooves of a horse on a racetrack. My stomach felt like butterflies were learning how to fly.

Rocks were flying everywhere like a volcano just erupted as they were hitting the wheels on my longboard. “Crack!” My longboard stopped from a rock but I had not. It felt as when you hit the brakes on a car, the car stops, but you don't. I felt air time as I flew a couple feet forward. My longboard was behind me. I felt my heart stop as I was going forward. I put my hands out as a defense so I don't faceplant. I reach out and stretch my arms out as far as they can possibly extend. Extended like a rubber band about to snap. Extended out longer than an extension