Jason Wang

A looming thunder lies ahead, gushing droplets accelerating to
window-breaking force. We are at the Niagra Falls, and I am six. We are
wrapped in blue plastic, looking like warped creatures from another planet.
I am constricted, like dinner for a ravenous python. It is just as hot,
despite the obvious deluge in front of us. Anticipation kicks in, like a
candle before the blow. What would happen? Would I make it out okay?
These questions disappeared into nothingness as new ones filled their
space. As we approached the rushing waterfall of endless vigor, I began to
tighten and coil even more. The river rocked about as if it were a beast
petrified of an even larger terror. The unease spread quickly upon
passengers. My thoughts started to blur much like the way a glass window
holds its breath during a blizzard. I realized that there was not much time
left, for it was slipping through the cracks of existence. The future came
closer until it crashed with the present in a vicious slap of disastrous and
unavoidable consequence. This was that moment. The waterfall cascaded
over me, intimidating aura sapping at my senses. The guy next to me had
no purpose, only to appear for a mundane setting if I happened to turn
left. I don’t know if the sun still existed, I don’t remember any warmth or
light then. The hissing of water on water grew virulent as we approached,
close enough for the tremendous might of the vertical stream to pull me
down forever.

Then it was over, an anticlimactic ending. I remember feeling the sun
again. The candle was out. It was a relaxing trip back to shore, enough for
me to feel my joints again. All of us on the boat started to unravel our
knots. We were back to normal. I looked back at the origin of such tense
emotions, and it didn’t look at all as I remembered it. In fact, it looked
striking enough for a picture.