jibbinc.
Active member
So before you read this, please note im terrible at English. I have 55% and im in grade 10, and by no means do think this is a good short story. I think the concept is cool, and a talented writer could produce a really good outcome. Here is my attempt.
Natural Dose.
Growing up in a ski involved
family I had started at a young age. Every weekend my family would make the
trip to the local ski hill for the day. My mom was an amazing woman, she would
have me on a backpack, my brother between her legs, and my sister tailing
behind attached on a rope. When we all turned about six years old she set us
free. The mountain was our vast white playground.
During
high school I played many school sports, and then skied on the weekend. Getting
more competitive in football, it started cutting into my ski time. One night in
grade 10 I remember having the choice of the big game, or twelve inches fresh
on the hill. That night was the night that I decided, Skiing was my passion.
Throughout
high school I would ski both days on the weekend, and barley survive through
the 5 days of torture at school. Skiing to me became a drug. The crisp chilled
mountain air, making me feel high as I got my two days of enjoyment. Fighting
the addiction I chose to drop out of high school in grade 11 and become a full
time junkie. A slave to the fresh turns and untouched powder I would’ve done
anything to get the rush. Ski bumming my life through my twenties and early
thirties, I had gotten fairly good. Picking up sponsorships and being invited
to competitions I did not once think about the consequence of an injury.
Filming
for a crew named Poor Boys Productions they had me forever pushing myself to
advance the sport to the next level. Inhaling the same drug for almost 20 years
my body itched for a new dose. As the new drug entered my system I once again
became an addict. The feeling from the cold winter air entering my lungs,
combined with the sensation of landing a new trick, sent more chemicals and
emotions to my brain then popping five caps of ecstasy. Becoming a fiend I
would push my limits way beyond my conformability level just to get the
intoxicating rush. It was May 3rd 2005 that I took it too far.
Standing
on the grand run in down the backside of Alta Mountain I was yet again craving
the high. The chilled air around me flowing in through my nose, and out my
mouth in a brisk refreshing matter gave me confidence. The question rose: Do I
take the leap of faith, or savor the sensation? Calming myself I took another
deep breath. This mountain air, a gateway drug, so good it should not be legal.
It had me hooked at a young age, blind to the fact that it controlled me I made
the choice to drop in.
Riding
down the run in backwards my mind was blank. There was no time to think, just
to act. As the orange sky illuminated my skis leaving the snow, I knew it was
time to start the trick. Time slowed down and I threw my head to the left and
dropped my shoulder. Setting myself up for a perfect corked 900 I reached my
hand around to the back tail of my right ski, and grabbed the tip. Weightless
in the air I float, the only sound is the camera click as it captures my
textbook trick. Around 720 I knew things were going to be bad. Seeing the
landing come a lot sooner than I had anticipated I prepared myself for the
worst. The impact of my skis prematurely hitting the knuckle of the landing was
my overdose.
Letting
the drug take over I had never expected me to be this dependant on one
substance. Hooked at age six I had not thought of skiing this way. It was
something fun to do on weekends. Skiing the black diamond runs on the mountain
was laced with backcountry, and a terrain park. As I grew older my focus
quickly turned to the hardcore aspect, and the harmless weekend activity
because a dangerous daily routine. As a 34 year old paraplegic who cannot go to
the bathroom by himself, I write my life story to young kids who think a
weekend activity doesn’t have the power to end your life plans. Going from a
hero to a zero in less the 5 seconds; I warn you that after your first breath
of crisp mountain air, you will forever long for another. Skiing is a drug.
Feedback?
Natural Dose.
Growing up in a ski involved
family I had started at a young age. Every weekend my family would make the
trip to the local ski hill for the day. My mom was an amazing woman, she would
have me on a backpack, my brother between her legs, and my sister tailing
behind attached on a rope. When we all turned about six years old she set us
free. The mountain was our vast white playground.
During
high school I played many school sports, and then skied on the weekend. Getting
more competitive in football, it started cutting into my ski time. One night in
grade 10 I remember having the choice of the big game, or twelve inches fresh
on the hill. That night was the night that I decided, Skiing was my passion.
Throughout
high school I would ski both days on the weekend, and barley survive through
the 5 days of torture at school. Skiing to me became a drug. The crisp chilled
mountain air, making me feel high as I got my two days of enjoyment. Fighting
the addiction I chose to drop out of high school in grade 11 and become a full
time junkie. A slave to the fresh turns and untouched powder I would’ve done
anything to get the rush. Ski bumming my life through my twenties and early
thirties, I had gotten fairly good. Picking up sponsorships and being invited
to competitions I did not once think about the consequence of an injury.
Filming
for a crew named Poor Boys Productions they had me forever pushing myself to
advance the sport to the next level. Inhaling the same drug for almost 20 years
my body itched for a new dose. As the new drug entered my system I once again
became an addict. The feeling from the cold winter air entering my lungs,
combined with the sensation of landing a new trick, sent more chemicals and
emotions to my brain then popping five caps of ecstasy. Becoming a fiend I
would push my limits way beyond my conformability level just to get the
intoxicating rush. It was May 3rd 2005 that I took it too far.
Standing
on the grand run in down the backside of Alta Mountain I was yet again craving
the high. The chilled air around me flowing in through my nose, and out my
mouth in a brisk refreshing matter gave me confidence. The question rose: Do I
take the leap of faith, or savor the sensation? Calming myself I took another
deep breath. This mountain air, a gateway drug, so good it should not be legal.
It had me hooked at a young age, blind to the fact that it controlled me I made
the choice to drop in.
Riding
down the run in backwards my mind was blank. There was no time to think, just
to act. As the orange sky illuminated my skis leaving the snow, I knew it was
time to start the trick. Time slowed down and I threw my head to the left and
dropped my shoulder. Setting myself up for a perfect corked 900 I reached my
hand around to the back tail of my right ski, and grabbed the tip. Weightless
in the air I float, the only sound is the camera click as it captures my
textbook trick. Around 720 I knew things were going to be bad. Seeing the
landing come a lot sooner than I had anticipated I prepared myself for the
worst. The impact of my skis prematurely hitting the knuckle of the landing was
my overdose.
Letting
the drug take over I had never expected me to be this dependant on one
substance. Hooked at age six I had not thought of skiing this way. It was
something fun to do on weekends. Skiing the black diamond runs on the mountain
was laced with backcountry, and a terrain park. As I grew older my focus
quickly turned to the hardcore aspect, and the harmless weekend activity
because a dangerous daily routine. As a 34 year old paraplegic who cannot go to
the bathroom by himself, I write my life story to young kids who think a
weekend activity doesn’t have the power to end your life plans. Going from a
hero to a zero in less the 5 seconds; I warn you that after your first breath
of crisp mountain air, you will forever long for another. Skiing is a drug.
Feedback?
