Deaf :: Personal Narrative Writing

Deaf The fresh wound didn’t seem like it would be such a problem until I saw the blood trickling out. Sure, when I had cut my self by grabbing a piece of saw palmetto, I felt my skin ripping and quickly retracted my right hand. However, my want for adventure to explore the tree island overcame the small bit of pain I felt. An adrenaline rush helped me overcome all of the annoyances pushing through the dense brim of the island, like palmetto leaves and spider webs, as well as the myriad of other obstacles upon finally penetrating. First there was the ground that wasn’t as firm as I thought it was; my right sneaker falling victim to the deceptive scattered branches that littered the floor, probably only inches thick, allowing water to creep in and wet my sock. Then there were the dead branches that I tried to use as a bridge to avoid this, which snapped under my overbearing 150 pounds. And of course every branch was connected to the last by a series of intricate spider webs; every one I ducked to get under just happened to have a neighbor right underneath. The list goes on. But the small wound where the palm of my hand met my thumb didn’t seem like it would be a big deal until I was back in the boat. I didn’t realize that it would trigger such intense emotions and drag me so deep into a pit of despair. Sitting there, about to row towards the professors, a bead of sweat dripped into the wound. Not only did I realize that this tiny cut would be a bother until it scabbed, but the pain of a half a day’s rowing suddenly caught up. Then I realized that the â€Å"adventure† of walking through the tree island had felt more like a difficult mission than the fun time I had expected. This got me really upset. Here I thought I was doing so well, because I had canoed various times before, and I had walked through equally difficult vegetation. So why was I so upset? Why was I so damaged, and in so much pain? I wanted to scream! Instead I let out my frustrations on the mosquitoes, swatting them away while my canoe partner fought his way back into the canoe. Deaf :: Personal Narrative Writing Deaf The fresh wound didn’t seem like it would be such a problem until I saw the blood trickling out. Sure, when I had cut my self by grabbing a piece of saw palmetto, I felt my skin ripping and quickly retracted my right hand. However, my want for adventure to explore the tree island overcame the small bit of pain I felt. An adrenaline rush helped me overcome all of the annoyances pushing through the dense brim of the island, like palmetto leaves and spider webs, as well as the myriad of other obstacles upon finally penetrating. First there was the ground that wasn’t as firm as I thought it was; my right sneaker falling victim to the deceptive scattered branches that littered the floor, probably only inches thick, allowing water to creep in and wet my sock. Then there were the dead branches that I tried to use as a bridge to avoid this, which snapped under my overbearing 150 pounds. And of course every branch was connected to the last by a series of intricate spider webs; every one I ducked to get under just happened to have a neighbor right underneath. The list goes on. But the small wound where the palm of my hand met my thumb didn’t seem like it would be a big deal until I was back in the boat. I didn’t realize that it would trigger such intense emotions and drag me so deep into a pit of despair. Sitting there, about to row towards the professors, a bead of sweat dripped into the wound. Not only did I realize that this tiny cut would be a bother until it scabbed, but the pain of a half a day’s rowing suddenly caught up. Then I realized that the â€Å"adventure† of walking through the tree island had felt more like a difficult mission than the fun time I had expected. This got me really upset. Here I thought I was doing so well, because I had canoed various times before, and I had walked through equally difficult vegetation. So why was I so upset? Why was I so damaged, and in so much pain? I wanted to scream! Instead I let out my frustrations on the mosquitoes, swatting them away while my canoe partner fought his way back into the canoe.