can someone write me an adventurous story that contains Disgusting Ecstatic Subtle Subdue Suburb Nonchalant Nonfiction Nonsense Chronic Synchronize, please?

Time is a valuable thing. One minute you have it, the next its gone. Sometimes you have the ability to control time. It goes fast as you have fun, yet continues to slow whenever you start to experience the lack of excitement. Habits usually fill our time, examples could be art, writing, and sightseeing. But my all time favorite would be mountain climbing. Free climbing is the most dangerous, of course, for it involves no bungee, but I see it as more than a risk. Particularly, the freedom of time.

   Saturday morning I pack my chalk, climbing shoes, knee and elbow pads, and an extra cord unless I want to feel more secure. I live in the lower part of Indiana, where my family grew up in a suburban farm. Its not all that, like a city house with an in-ground pool, but its quiet, and thats all I want. I was born Feb. 17th, 1987 and only been to 4 major states in my last 30 years. its now 2021, with special equipment like Smart Phones and wireless headphones. I remember playing in the backyard with my best friends and not caring about taxes, money, and the ability to get by. It was better, and its everything I wish I could do again.

    Now, this story might be wasting your time, drawing you from ecstatic adventure and making the clock tick slower and slower, but I promise its just getting good. On the same Saturday as i was loaded my things into the back of my ford, I spaced out. No, not just spaced, I passed out. It was like I was drifting in a rift of space. Little did I know, that was exactly what i was doing.

   I get up, dazed and dry-mouthed as I attempt to stand. I look down at my hands. They're tiny. My feet look small, too. I take a look around and im in my old room. My 10-year-old self room. I go into the kitchen and see the calendar. July 6th, 1997. This isnt right. If anything I'm probably just dreaming. Mild concussion symptoms and coma illusions can do this to you. But if I really am here, this is the moment I walk outside to see the cops. At 10 years old, July 6th, 1997 my father died from a shooting. I can already hear the sirens and practically see that lights. I feel tears roll one by one down my cheek as i look out the window. There he was, Jonathan Wilson, my father, on my driveway, dead.

Explanation:

Disgusting: Father Death

Ecstatic: Time Rift

Subtle: Calm Appearance

Suburb: Farm Life

Nonchalant: Personality

Nonfiction: Related Science

Nonsense: Time Rift

Chronic Synchronize: Years in Order

Hoped this helped! :]

i believe the answer is a.

explanation:

hope my answer has you!