The Beach-Personal Narrative

The fall breeze kissed my face as I unzipped my tent flap. I smiled faintly as I closed my eyes and inhaled the smoky campfire air. This was the first camping trip I could remember, and every second had been beautiful. I was the vulnerable age of only 6, and leaned on my parents every moment I could. Tonight was no different, and I held on tightly to my father’s hand while the rest of the camp group started walking. We planned to go to a nearby meadow, to stargaze. The mountains were a perfect place to look at the sky, as they were unadulterated by city lights. Nothing terrified me more than the night sky, which seemed like an endless void. There was so much space that it felt as if I would get sucked in.

It was cool, and peaceful, the sky lit up by tiny lights. The stars were so numerous, like fish in a sea of dark. It was so overwhelming that my breath caught in my throat, and I decided to walk back to camp on my own. The beautiful sky would have to wait for when I was ready. As I walked quickly on the dirt path I soon spotted the large campfire. As I approached my mother and the other women greeted me, my mother offering to make me a s’more. I readily agreed, imagining the chocolate softening in my mouth. I waited for the treat, lolling around the sparking fire and savoring the

Although it has only been seconds, the damage had been done. My eyes darted back and forth uncertain of where to look, and what to do. I was rushed from the fire, holding on tightly to my wrist, almost like I expected my hand to fall off if I let go of it. The women ushered me to a nearby picnic table where a jug of water was standing. The water rushed over it washing away the remaining embers and revealing the burnt flesh. It didn’t hurt, strangely enough. Until my mother found some ice. Then it hurt, more badly than anything I ever knew at the