Laura Elaine - 2004-11-13 00:55:34
Down the street from my parentals, lies a place called Nature Land. Dubbed so by us or someone else, I do not know, for upon entering this domain, no name doth show... But in its center lies a well - the old fashioned, 'pump me a thousand times until blisters are present upon your hands and I'll produce a mediocre amount of water' type well, on which my big brother and I would labor after rifting through the miles of nature-like trails. One day (when I was barely four feet tall), as my big bro stood behind that big handled pump, attempting to produce some refreshment, I happened to assume my usual position of 'ever in the way' and he pumped the handle right into my little chin. Blood spewed forth unlike any amount of water that we could induce from that old well and I simply stood aghast, saying, "Cooooooooool!" In a panick, my brother began to apply the cuffs of his jean jacket to my crimsoned face in a feeble attempt to stave the blood. He dragged me back to our house and presented my gorey face to my father who then states, "Ahhh, she'll live - get her a towel..." My mother returned home after a day of shopping to the absolute horror of my father's negligence regarding my mangled chin and thrust me into the car. I remember her cursing him the entire way to the doctor's office, 25 miles away. I had to have it cut open as it had, before my mother came home, quickly scarred over quite grotesquely. I had several stitches put in and now sit, fondling the very spot upon which this memory lies as I so very often do, questioning the competence of my father as a caretaker...

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