Monday, November 20, 2006 12:05 AM
I hate to fall. I just don't like it. When I was young, I didn't know the word death, pain nor injury. I was just pure playful and I always run around everywhere and anywhere.
There was once when I was playing tagging with my friends. I ran everywhere - across the roads, climb up fences, jump over railways and did everything one can imagine to not let the tag catch me. I just did not want to be caught even though I have done some dangerous things.
I ran up a stairs. I literaly ran up the stairs, jumping at some step, giving them a miss because I thought I would want to waste my time on them. Then, I just tripped and fell when I skipped a step. I think, thatwas my eleventh step. Great! Just one step before perfection.
There was a lot of blood! A pool of blood! A pond of blood! A lake of blood! A sea of blood!
I was rushed to the hospital. On the way, I was holding my chin and crying, telling my mom," Mummy, I don't want to go to the hospital. Let me go home. I promise I will be a good boy. I won't run around anymore. I won't skip steps anymore. I will climb every single step I encounter. I don't want to go to the hospital. Injections are painful. They bite and I don't want to be punished that way! Mummy, please let me go home. I promise I will be a good boy."
Needless to say, I was sent to the hospital where the "punishment" was dished out to me. Now, the words "fall" and "pain" have been etched into my face forever, by the scar I had gotten from the fall.
Note: The above things are all made up. I was just trying to bring something into you people's attention. If you can figure out I am trying to talk about, good for you. If you can't figure out I am talking about... Well, it's for me to know and for you to guess.
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
