Reflective Essay: A Narrative Fiction

The merry-go-round blurred as I spun my sister, Molly, around and around again. I had to be careful of the ferocious twisting handle bars, I bruised my hands the week before. Never-the-less, I clamped on anyways. My leap flung dust and wood chips into the air as it was now the rest of the world that became frazzled. Brightbill Park became a tornado of moss, gravel, and lumber. I was Indiana Jones, letting the force slide me to the edge of the saucer, my back whacking the poles chipping with paint.
I stared over at Molly, my eyes beat with wind, as she became the only thing in focus. Her shirt was dirty and dull, but had a funny monkey on it. Her blonde hair swooped and kneaded her face like dough. It was probably annoying but she laughed anyways. Once the wobbling came to a cool halt, the gradient became reality again and that reality was my grandmother angrily pacing toward me. It was only one year since I had a seizure after spinning in my dad's red-matted office chair. I thought it would be a blast to see how fast it could sling me around. Apparently, too quick to remember a single detail about it. Subsequently, I was barred from spinning, my favorite boredom activity.
"What do you think you're doing?" my grandma said as my eyes followed her, my momentum slowly coming down. "Your parents are going to

Molly made me chase her up sloped bride to the top. Each step made the jungle gym sway and it vibrated the air around your face. The floor paneling contained a pattern of holes that I sometimes stuck my eyeball through. Safe woodchips of the ground taunted me, as I also towered above the rest of the park. Grandma was a speck in the distance; sitting on a bench, her eyes dotting a mystery novel. The contentment of her soft, boney hands were far away from mine. My sweaty palms clasped the blood-red bars the kept me from plummeting. This place scared and exhilarated me, like a