(no subject)
I had to write another paper for English 1102. It was supposed to be a narrative describing a time in your life where you experienced a very intense emotion, whether it be love, hatred, happiness, depression, fear, etc...
I chose fear, and wrote the stupidest fucking story I could possibly think of. It's all true.
Michael Pung
Narrative
October 17, 2005
Ever been so scared you wanted to wet your pants? Yeah, me neither. But this one time, I came close. I was in an airplane. The doorway was open. I stood at the edge, and braced myself for the most thrilling experience of my life. I was going to skydive. Little did I know that disaster awaited me in the very near future, and it would take every ounce of skill, luck, and quick thinking I possessed to get out of this with my life.
It all started one sunny Sunday morning in my brother’s high-rise apartment in the middle of downtown Athens, Georgia. I was visiting because it was a very important day. The day my brother turned twenty-one. It’s not so important in that it’s just another birthday. It’s important because, you guessed it, that’s the day you can buy beer! So, needless to say, we had a few drinks in us, which brought out our more adventurous sides. We were trying to think of something fun to do with our free time, and one of us (probably me) threw out the idea of jumping out of airplanes. At the time, it seemed like the best idea in the world.
To make a long story very short, we went online and searched for skydiving lessons. Almost immediately we found a small business in Athens that offered a one-day lesson in skydiving. The final exam was jumping out of a plane, and all it would cost was about a hundred and fifty dollars per person. Excellent. We rustled up the money (Joe had a little extra cash from birthday gifts, and I had just gotten paid), and, slightly sobered up, but still itching to throw ourselves from an airplane, headed off to the small runway. Our class consisted of a middle aged father and his son, two Korean ladies who I assumed to be sisters, myself and my brother, and the instructor, a fifty-seven year old Vietnam veteran with a lisp and an eye patch named simply “Lefty.”
The class itself was fun. We were taught all the proper techniques of skydiving, which were fairly simple. Keep your head, arms and legs outstretched to gather wind resistance, and pull your ripcord in time. I thought to myself, “This is nothing I can’t handle. I went to public school.” I could tell my brother was thinking the same thing. We were ready. This was going to happen, and we were going to have one hell of a twenty-first birthday.
Anyway, before I knew it, we were in the air, parachutes strapped to our backs, wind screaming through my dreadlocks as I stood in the open doorway of the airplane. I must admit, I was a little nervous, but I was ready. Nothing could stop me from going through with this. Lefty screamed into my ear, “ALRIGHT, MIKE, ARE YOU READY?!” I told him, “Yes,” and gave him a wink and a nod to show him that I wasn’t afraid. Then I turned, and without another word, I hurled myself from the airplane. It was great. Sheer exhilaration flowed through my body. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. The wind ripped across my face and goggles as I followed every instruction from the class. When the time came, I pulled my ripcord, expecting to float lazily to the ground the rest of the way. But that’s not what happened. In fact, nothing happened. “No big deal,” I thought, keeping my cool, “I’ll just pull the backup cord.” But nothing happened then either. Oh shit. I was going to die. I knew it. I looked down, and saw the ground rapidly approaching. Then I looked slightly to the left and saw my only hope.
Between myself and the ground was my brother, who had jumped about thirty seconds before me. I watched him as a parachute flew out of his bag and his rate of descent slowed dramatically. I had one chance to live, and one chance only. I angled myself so that the wind pulled me closer to my brother. I was falling incredibly fast, and if I was going to grab onto him in mid-air I was going to need all the strength and determination I could muster. I desperately spread my arms and legs, trying to gather an insane amount of wind resistance and slow my fall. Joe was getting closer and closer by the second. I knew if I failed in the task set before me, I was dead. And it was going to hurt. And then, he was there. I reached out, and somehow, amazingly, managed to grab onto his pant leg. I clung for dear life. I slowly pulled myself up his body until I could wrap my arms around his waist. I had no idea what he could possibly be thinking at this moment. For what seemed like hours, we drifted towards the ground, me with a vice grip around my brother. When we finally hit the ground, we hit hard. I felt like I had broken my ankle. But I was alive. I kissed the sweet ground below me, and vowed never to skydive again.
THE END
I chose fear, and wrote the stupidest fucking story I could possibly think of. It's all true.
Michael Pung
Narrative
October 17, 2005
Ever been so scared you wanted to wet your pants? Yeah, me neither. But this one time, I came close. I was in an airplane. The doorway was open. I stood at the edge, and braced myself for the most thrilling experience of my life. I was going to skydive. Little did I know that disaster awaited me in the very near future, and it would take every ounce of skill, luck, and quick thinking I possessed to get out of this with my life.
It all started one sunny Sunday morning in my brother’s high-rise apartment in the middle of downtown Athens, Georgia. I was visiting because it was a very important day. The day my brother turned twenty-one. It’s not so important in that it’s just another birthday. It’s important because, you guessed it, that’s the day you can buy beer! So, needless to say, we had a few drinks in us, which brought out our more adventurous sides. We were trying to think of something fun to do with our free time, and one of us (probably me) threw out the idea of jumping out of airplanes. At the time, it seemed like the best idea in the world.
To make a long story very short, we went online and searched for skydiving lessons. Almost immediately we found a small business in Athens that offered a one-day lesson in skydiving. The final exam was jumping out of a plane, and all it would cost was about a hundred and fifty dollars per person. Excellent. We rustled up the money (Joe had a little extra cash from birthday gifts, and I had just gotten paid), and, slightly sobered up, but still itching to throw ourselves from an airplane, headed off to the small runway. Our class consisted of a middle aged father and his son, two Korean ladies who I assumed to be sisters, myself and my brother, and the instructor, a fifty-seven year old Vietnam veteran with a lisp and an eye patch named simply “Lefty.”
The class itself was fun. We were taught all the proper techniques of skydiving, which were fairly simple. Keep your head, arms and legs outstretched to gather wind resistance, and pull your ripcord in time. I thought to myself, “This is nothing I can’t handle. I went to public school.” I could tell my brother was thinking the same thing. We were ready. This was going to happen, and we were going to have one hell of a twenty-first birthday.
Anyway, before I knew it, we were in the air, parachutes strapped to our backs, wind screaming through my dreadlocks as I stood in the open doorway of the airplane. I must admit, I was a little nervous, but I was ready. Nothing could stop me from going through with this. Lefty screamed into my ear, “ALRIGHT, MIKE, ARE YOU READY?!” I told him, “Yes,” and gave him a wink and a nod to show him that I wasn’t afraid. Then I turned, and without another word, I hurled myself from the airplane. It was great. Sheer exhilaration flowed through my body. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. The wind ripped across my face and goggles as I followed every instruction from the class. When the time came, I pulled my ripcord, expecting to float lazily to the ground the rest of the way. But that’s not what happened. In fact, nothing happened. “No big deal,” I thought, keeping my cool, “I’ll just pull the backup cord.” But nothing happened then either. Oh shit. I was going to die. I knew it. I looked down, and saw the ground rapidly approaching. Then I looked slightly to the left and saw my only hope.
Between myself and the ground was my brother, who had jumped about thirty seconds before me. I watched him as a parachute flew out of his bag and his rate of descent slowed dramatically. I had one chance to live, and one chance only. I angled myself so that the wind pulled me closer to my brother. I was falling incredibly fast, and if I was going to grab onto him in mid-air I was going to need all the strength and determination I could muster. I desperately spread my arms and legs, trying to gather an insane amount of wind resistance and slow my fall. Joe was getting closer and closer by the second. I knew if I failed in the task set before me, I was dead. And it was going to hurt. And then, he was there. I reached out, and somehow, amazingly, managed to grab onto his pant leg. I clung for dear life. I slowly pulled myself up his body until I could wrap my arms around his waist. I had no idea what he could possibly be thinking at this moment. For what seemed like hours, we drifted towards the ground, me with a vice grip around my brother. When we finally hit the ground, we hit hard. I felt like I had broken my ankle. But I was alive. I kissed the sweet ground below me, and vowed never to skydive again.
THE END