Post by pancake on Aug 16, 2006 22:11:31 GMT -4
ok...so for this one scholarship we had to tell a story of something thats happened in our lives...and so i did..it had to be under 1600 words...mine is 1593 *phew* and apparently it's not that bad...so i thought..hey...writting is a form of art so why not post it...now take into mind i suck at writting...like...alot heh...im really bad at it so please be easy on me >_> it also ends kinda out of nowhere but thats cuz i didnt want to go over the limit...so the ending is bad...but oh well...you get the message...anyways here ya go...a lil story about what happened to me when i was 7 (oh ya it also had to be in first person...and im not good at that so ahahaha >_>)
My story starts as most tend too. It was a warm July morning in 1997. I was seven at the time, about to turn eight in a few more weeks, and as most seven year olds who are not playing with their friends outside, I laid inside on the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. As I tried to rake my mind for ideas to entertain me, I sadly could not think of anything. Releasing a small grunt from my throat, I felt my tongue begin to feel dry as thirst began to tease it.
“I might as well get a drink seeing as how I have nothing else to do.”
Once this ran through my mind, I sluggishly rose to my feet and began to trudge to our garage. Why we stored our drinks there I do not know, nevertheless that does not change the fact. Upon opening the door to the cluttered and humid room, a sudden wave of heat rushed over my skin as it began to battle the chilled air in the house. Allowing myself to get acquainted to the sudden change in temperature, I placed my bare feet on the concrete floor and continued to my destination. I walked to the back and stopped in front of six boxes, each containing a different brand of soda. Quickly skimming across the names on the boxes, I found the one I had been looking for. I grabbed a can of Root Beer and turned around in order to go back into the sanctuary of the house.
Usually I always opened and closed doors by using the handle, however, this time I subconsciously grabbed the edge of the wood just above the handle. Glancing down at the can that lay victim to the firm grasp of my left hand, I temporarily forgot where my other hand was and began to shut the door. Shortly after I had initiated this motion, I started to retract my hand from the door but not nearly fast enough. The door caught hold of my ring finger as pain shot through my hand and up my arm. I had caught my fingers in doors before many times, but never in my life have I felt such intense pain. My mind became blind to everything around me and only focused upon my injury, causing me to release the can from its prison and allowing it to find refuge on the ground. Thinking that I had just pinched the tip of my finger in the door, I rapidly shook my hand from side to side as I discharge a squeal from my lungs. I hurriedly ran to the sink in the kitchen hoping that if I ran it under cool water some pain would subside. As I continued to shake my hand in the middle of the sink, my eyes saw something I did not expect. Seeing crimson spots appear in the white porcelain tub succeeded in replacing the pain with fear. Within a few seconds, the white of the tub quickly vanished under the crimson blood, my blood. My eyes widened in fear and I put all my energy into one last squeal.
Horrified by my sudden outburst, my mother came running into the kitchen and saw me on the verge of tears as a small pool of blood began to form in the sink. Her first thought was that I had cut myself, therefore she grabbed a towel out from a drawer and wrapped it around my wound. Between my sobs, I somehow managed to ask my mother what was wrong with me. As I watched her remove part of the towel in order to see my finger, I saw panic quickly take control of her face. Since she was temporarily unable to find her voice, I turned my gaze down to the towel and noticed that just like the sink, my blood had quickly changed the white towel to a deep red. Feeling tears about to spill from my eyes, I could hear my brothers footsteps out of the midst of confusion that claimed my mind. As his footsteps became louder with every passing second, they suddenly ended as he stood a few feet away from my mother. Not bothering to look away from my hand, my mother quietly yet demandingly spoke to my brother, “Go see if her finger is still on the door.”
The second these words entered my ears, the threat of tears quickly vanished as I fell into a state of pure disbelief. “Go see if her finger is still on the door!? She can’t mean that, can she?” As this sentence continued to echo inside my mind, my breathes became shallow and few in number. I was ripped away from my thoughts as my brothers voice could be heard coming from behind me. “Ew! Her finger is still on the door!” No longer being capable of feeling anything, I listlessly stood there as my mother ordered my brother to place the tip of my finger in a plastic bag. Unwilling to do as she commanded, my mother placed the blood soaked towel in my other hand and rushed to do the task. She then came back to me and pushed me out the door and into the passenger seat of her van. I do not remember much of the car ride to the emergency room, but I do remember the thoughts that clouded my head.
No longer focusing upon the pain, all I thought of was “What will I look like when it grows back? Will it even grow back? What will I do if it doesn’t grow back? I don’t want to be made fun of.” Knowing the cruelty of kids, I became afraid of how I would be treated in school. The more I thought of this, the more tears began to threaten to fall. Once we finally reached the hospital, a few tears had fallen as a nurse had me sit in the waiting room next to an elderly woman. My mom quickly began to order that a doctor attend to me at once due to my injury, apparently the nurses did not think my wound was that serious. Sitting in the chair, I could see a petite nurse pushing a wheel chair down the hall and towards me. Since I had gotten in another state of shock, the nurse had to assist me as I was unable to stand on my own. Looking up, my eyes met the face of the elderly woman. Being able to force a majority of my tears back into their hiding places, they were quickly set free once I heard the elderly woman speak. “Don’t worry child, everything will be fine.” Still looking at her face, my eyes widened some as my lips slightly parted. By hearing this, the first positive thing said to me since my ordeal began, at least the first I can remember, a small flicker of hope showed itself as the nurse rolled me back to one of the emergency rooms and helped me up onto the bed.
After awhile, the doctor came into the room and started to examine my finger. My mother then handed him the bag with my finger tip in it. He glanced down at the bag and then handed it to a nurse and stated that it was too bruised and damaged to be reattached to my finger. Not wanting to know anything further, I cried to my mother, “I want daddy here.” She then had my brother call my father at work and inform him about my situation.
Once the doctor had gotten the bleeding under control, he began to show my mom my wound and explained what she would need to do to make sure it would not get infected. As he handed my mother all the different bandages and solutions that we would need to wash my wound in, he said, “She will be lucky if it grows back.”
During the days that followed, I tried to find the good that could come out of what had happened. I had always thought that everything happened for a reason, but I couldn’t think of anything. “Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe that’s it.” A few days had passed and my family and I went up north to go camping at Camp Creek in West Virginia. Placed in the middle of the mountains with a waterfall and creek, it was the perfect place to relax and try to get over what had happened. As I was aimlessly walking around the camp site one day, I had come to the conclusion that nothing good would ever come from my injury. Oh how wrong I was. Not only but a few minutes after I had thought that could I see a woman and my father, holding a young girl in his arms, running towards our camper. Apparently the girl was playing in the creek and had slipped on a rock and cut herself on a hidden piece of glass, causing her foot to bleed profusely. Due to the fact that the nearest hospital was at least forty minutes away, the mother was thrilled and relieved that we had exactly what she needed. My mother dug out the medicine and bandages used for my finger and began to treat the girl. Although I felt sorrow for the girl, I couldn’t help but feel relieved knowing that there was a reason for what had happened to me.
My story starts as most tend too. It was a warm July morning in 1997. I was seven at the time, about to turn eight in a few more weeks, and as most seven year olds who are not playing with their friends outside, I laid inside on the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. As I tried to rake my mind for ideas to entertain me, I sadly could not think of anything. Releasing a small grunt from my throat, I felt my tongue begin to feel dry as thirst began to tease it.
“I might as well get a drink seeing as how I have nothing else to do.”
Once this ran through my mind, I sluggishly rose to my feet and began to trudge to our garage. Why we stored our drinks there I do not know, nevertheless that does not change the fact. Upon opening the door to the cluttered and humid room, a sudden wave of heat rushed over my skin as it began to battle the chilled air in the house. Allowing myself to get acquainted to the sudden change in temperature, I placed my bare feet on the concrete floor and continued to my destination. I walked to the back and stopped in front of six boxes, each containing a different brand of soda. Quickly skimming across the names on the boxes, I found the one I had been looking for. I grabbed a can of Root Beer and turned around in order to go back into the sanctuary of the house.
Usually I always opened and closed doors by using the handle, however, this time I subconsciously grabbed the edge of the wood just above the handle. Glancing down at the can that lay victim to the firm grasp of my left hand, I temporarily forgot where my other hand was and began to shut the door. Shortly after I had initiated this motion, I started to retract my hand from the door but not nearly fast enough. The door caught hold of my ring finger as pain shot through my hand and up my arm. I had caught my fingers in doors before many times, but never in my life have I felt such intense pain. My mind became blind to everything around me and only focused upon my injury, causing me to release the can from its prison and allowing it to find refuge on the ground. Thinking that I had just pinched the tip of my finger in the door, I rapidly shook my hand from side to side as I discharge a squeal from my lungs. I hurriedly ran to the sink in the kitchen hoping that if I ran it under cool water some pain would subside. As I continued to shake my hand in the middle of the sink, my eyes saw something I did not expect. Seeing crimson spots appear in the white porcelain tub succeeded in replacing the pain with fear. Within a few seconds, the white of the tub quickly vanished under the crimson blood, my blood. My eyes widened in fear and I put all my energy into one last squeal.
Horrified by my sudden outburst, my mother came running into the kitchen and saw me on the verge of tears as a small pool of blood began to form in the sink. Her first thought was that I had cut myself, therefore she grabbed a towel out from a drawer and wrapped it around my wound. Between my sobs, I somehow managed to ask my mother what was wrong with me. As I watched her remove part of the towel in order to see my finger, I saw panic quickly take control of her face. Since she was temporarily unable to find her voice, I turned my gaze down to the towel and noticed that just like the sink, my blood had quickly changed the white towel to a deep red. Feeling tears about to spill from my eyes, I could hear my brothers footsteps out of the midst of confusion that claimed my mind. As his footsteps became louder with every passing second, they suddenly ended as he stood a few feet away from my mother. Not bothering to look away from my hand, my mother quietly yet demandingly spoke to my brother, “Go see if her finger is still on the door.”
The second these words entered my ears, the threat of tears quickly vanished as I fell into a state of pure disbelief. “Go see if her finger is still on the door!? She can’t mean that, can she?” As this sentence continued to echo inside my mind, my breathes became shallow and few in number. I was ripped away from my thoughts as my brothers voice could be heard coming from behind me. “Ew! Her finger is still on the door!” No longer being capable of feeling anything, I listlessly stood there as my mother ordered my brother to place the tip of my finger in a plastic bag. Unwilling to do as she commanded, my mother placed the blood soaked towel in my other hand and rushed to do the task. She then came back to me and pushed me out the door and into the passenger seat of her van. I do not remember much of the car ride to the emergency room, but I do remember the thoughts that clouded my head.
No longer focusing upon the pain, all I thought of was “What will I look like when it grows back? Will it even grow back? What will I do if it doesn’t grow back? I don’t want to be made fun of.” Knowing the cruelty of kids, I became afraid of how I would be treated in school. The more I thought of this, the more tears began to threaten to fall. Once we finally reached the hospital, a few tears had fallen as a nurse had me sit in the waiting room next to an elderly woman. My mom quickly began to order that a doctor attend to me at once due to my injury, apparently the nurses did not think my wound was that serious. Sitting in the chair, I could see a petite nurse pushing a wheel chair down the hall and towards me. Since I had gotten in another state of shock, the nurse had to assist me as I was unable to stand on my own. Looking up, my eyes met the face of the elderly woman. Being able to force a majority of my tears back into their hiding places, they were quickly set free once I heard the elderly woman speak. “Don’t worry child, everything will be fine.” Still looking at her face, my eyes widened some as my lips slightly parted. By hearing this, the first positive thing said to me since my ordeal began, at least the first I can remember, a small flicker of hope showed itself as the nurse rolled me back to one of the emergency rooms and helped me up onto the bed.
After awhile, the doctor came into the room and started to examine my finger. My mother then handed him the bag with my finger tip in it. He glanced down at the bag and then handed it to a nurse and stated that it was too bruised and damaged to be reattached to my finger. Not wanting to know anything further, I cried to my mother, “I want daddy here.” She then had my brother call my father at work and inform him about my situation.
Once the doctor had gotten the bleeding under control, he began to show my mom my wound and explained what she would need to do to make sure it would not get infected. As he handed my mother all the different bandages and solutions that we would need to wash my wound in, he said, “She will be lucky if it grows back.”
During the days that followed, I tried to find the good that could come out of what had happened. I had always thought that everything happened for a reason, but I couldn’t think of anything. “Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe that’s it.” A few days had passed and my family and I went up north to go camping at Camp Creek in West Virginia. Placed in the middle of the mountains with a waterfall and creek, it was the perfect place to relax and try to get over what had happened. As I was aimlessly walking around the camp site one day, I had come to the conclusion that nothing good would ever come from my injury. Oh how wrong I was. Not only but a few minutes after I had thought that could I see a woman and my father, holding a young girl in his arms, running towards our camper. Apparently the girl was playing in the creek and had slipped on a rock and cut herself on a hidden piece of glass, causing her foot to bleed profusely. Due to the fact that the nearest hospital was at least forty minutes away, the mother was thrilled and relieved that we had exactly what she needed. My mother dug out the medicine and bandages used for my finger and began to treat the girl. Although I felt sorrow for the girl, I couldn’t help but feel relieved knowing that there was a reason for what had happened to me.
thanks arc ^_^