tell about a narrative essay using descriptive language
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Answer: The sun shone brilliantly and the water in the sea glittered invitingly. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze and white, fluffy clouds drifted across the clear blue sky. It was just perfect for my long anticipated picnic with my friends. Just as we arrived, the sky began to glow as the flaming orb rose from the horizon and ignited the sky, causing it to burst into a passionate mix of scarlet and yellow. Its ineffable beauty was like a masterpiece by Monet brought to life, lying right in front of my eyes.
Walking towards the beach, my feet brushed the silky, smooth sand. The beach was filled with unending grains of golden sand, like the entire beach was made of gold itself.
I dashed into the shimmering waves. The calming, repetitive sounds of lapping waves came together gently, a hypnotic melody, casting a spell of serene tranquility over the mesmerizing scene.
As the light began to fade, I felt compelled to have the last dip before we headed home. The waves had become choppier as afternoon eased into evening but still appeared harmless enough from the shore. I plunged in and struck out, confident at first, only realising my mistake when I was out of my depth. The surf dragged at my legs, hauling me down, and rocks hidden below the surface grazed my knees and elbows as I tried to fight my way back to the beach.
A great, grey wave sucked me towards it and then broke across me like a sack of gravel, bouncing me along the seabed. Desperate for air, I was churned around until I no longer knew up from down. Then the current relaxed its grip and I went up, just in time for the next big wave to break over my head and push me back under. Each time I surfaced, the process repeated itself, until I was battered and winded.
I swallowed water, tried not to breathe it in, and waved frantically at my friends on the beach. They were packing bags and chatting, paying me little attention. Once or twice, someone waved back. From their perspective, it probably looked as if I was larking around, diving into the waves; waving but certainly not drowning. It really struck me that I was about to drown and no one knew.
As I struggled, an intense pain bloomed at the top of my chest, spreading downwards and inwards. "That's my lungs giving out," I thought, "Or my heart." Back on the surface I tried to wave again but I could not lift my arm and the pain became intolerable. I finally found myself able to breathe, but it only made the pain worse.
The next wave offered some relief, though, driving me towards the shore. My feet found a purchase at last and I stumbled forwards, my right arm dangling at my side. Suddenly, my friend, who realised something was amiss, ran into the shallows to guide me onto the beach.
"You've dislocated your shoulder," he said. Looking down, I could make out the strange peak at the top of my chest where my arm joint, torn clean out of its socket during the struggle, was protruding beneath the skin.
I sat on the beach, wrapped in a towel, shivering. My friend brought me coffee, but I was suffering from shock more than cold. Breathing became increasingly difficult. I had escaped the sea but now I felt as if I was drowning on dry land.
I managed to gulp down the gas and air in the ambulance - nearly a whole canister on the hour-long journey to the hospital, where most of the pain eased in an instant as my shoulder was popped back to place by a nervous-looking orthopaedic doctor.
Nothing could rebuild my carefree attitude to water. The thrill of being with nature replaced in an instant by the sense of being at the mercy of an irresistible force. It was such a dangerous experience.
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