King's Island-Personal Narrative

I was shuffling through my photos to arrange them into an album when I came across a particularly indelible one. As I peered at it pensively, my palms began to sweat and butterflies filled my stomach. The picture that solicited this response was a memory from the day I rode the biggest roller coaster at King’s Island. When I conquered all of my fears and rode the Diamondback. That summer day in 2009 had started off innocently enough. It was sweltering and humid, but my sister and I were still adamant on going to King’s Island, the biggest amusement park in the area. I had approached the emerald gates of the park blissfully unaware of the harrowing experience that lay ahead. We began our time at the park by riding the Spider, an ebony colored carnival ride that spun you around in circles until you became nauseated. After that sublime experience, we walked around the park for a bit to shake off the vertigo that plagued us and to find a prospective next ride. In fact, we were moving along splendidly on the taupe brick path that snaked through the park when my sister braked instantaneously, consequently causing me to trip over her heels. She pointed to a strategically dilapidated wooden sign and declared, “That one is next,” I was filled with frightful anxiety when I saw the sign she
Meanwhile, my sister smiled gleefully in the seat beside me and exclaimed, “You’re going to love it.” I glanced over the edge of our car inadvertently and caught a glimpse of the buildings beneath me, they had shrunk to become microscopic in size. Nevertheless, I had no time to panic because we had made it to the summit. I screeched at the top of my lungs as the our cart was slung over the other side of the hill and my stomach dropped through the center of the Earth. The rest of the trip was a blur of twists and queasy