Colors in the Caves Narrative Essay
It was Spring Break of 2010, the already steamy, hot temperatures of the Southern air rising despite the full blast of the air conditioning blowing through my hair as we drive through the seemingly never-ending desert of Arizona. My family, consisting of four, is headed toward Picacho Peak to take on the strenuous 6.2-mile hike along the Sunset Vista Trail. We pull up to the Sunset Vista Trail Head parking area, our medium-sized Camelbaks having already been packed somewhere along the 1,060 miles of flat, boring road, we start up the trail with the sun beating down our backs.
Automatically, I fall in step with my long-legged brother while my sister gratefully stays behind with our mother, adopting a preferred slow, steady pace. The sun is bright, the jagged rocks and occasional stream receiving its pale, yet blinding reflection. My brother and I make a good team; he supplies the food while I supply the water, all the while sharing laughs and memories, memories that I will later on think to be my last.
After a couple hours, the scalding sun is taking on its inevitable journey toward the western horizon, being replaced with the cool breeze of the moon. My brother and I decide to take a refueling break on two enormous rocks after four hours of walking in the moonlight. “Here, take my Camelbak,” I say, “I’m going to the bathroom.” I take my flashlight as I walk off the trail for two minutes, keeping track of the monotonous rocks and brush I pass by. When I am finished, I start to head back towards our temporary resting place.
Passing the familiar rocks, I crouch down to inspect with my LED flashlight a peculiar zigzag shape on the ground. Tracing my finger along the sharp edges of the shape, I realize it’s a narrow fracture in the ground, leading to a larger web of intricate fractures that rest just under my feet. Just then I hear a whisper of rushing water. Before I have time to react to the sudden realization that the ground could collapse from under my feet, I
Automatically, I fall in step with my long-legged brother while my sister gratefully stays behind with our mother, adopting a preferred slow, steady pace. The sun is bright, the jagged rocks and occasional stream receiving its pale, yet blinding reflection. My brother and I make a good team; he supplies the food while I supply the water, all the while sharing laughs and memories, memories that I will later on think to be my last.
After a couple hours, the scalding sun is taking on its inevitable journey toward the western horizon, being replaced with the cool breeze of the moon. My brother and I decide to take a refueling break on two enormous rocks after four hours of walking in the moonlight. “Here, take my Camelbak,” I say, “I’m going to the bathroom.” I take my flashlight as I walk off the trail for two minutes, keeping track of the monotonous rocks and brush I pass by. When I am finished, I start to head back towards our temporary resting place.
Passing the familiar rocks, I crouch down to inspect with my LED flashlight a peculiar zigzag shape on the ground. Tracing my finger along the sharp edges of the shape, I realize it’s a narrow fracture in the ground, leading to a larger web of intricate fractures that rest just under my feet. Just then I hear a whisper of rushing water. Before I have time to react to the sudden realization that the ground could collapse from under my feet, I