2022 InFlux Magazine

InFlux 2022

Alderson Broaddus University Literature Magazine

InFlux

A Publication of ABU Writers Division of the Humanities Alderson Broaddus University

Influx Editor: Timothy Tillman Faculty Advisor: Daniel Propst

Influx is an annual publication of ABU Writers, Alderson Broaddus University, Philippi, West Virginia. All students, faculty, staff, and alumni of Alderson Broaddus University are welcome to submit poems, short stories, brief essays, or artwork for consideration. All submissions (except artwork) should be typed and should include the author’s name. Poems should be single spaced. Other written work should be double spaced. Artwork should be in .jpg format. All work is submitted electronically to influx@ab.edu.

Influx is distributed free of charge to interested students, faculty, staff, and alumni of Alderson Broaddus University.

Copyright @ ABU Humanities, 2022

All rights revert to the authors upon publication.

Table of Contents

Selfie by Melissa Toothman ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………page 5

Winter is Broken by Melissa Toothman …………………………………………………………………………………………page 6

Last Campfire by Melissa Toothman ………………………………………………………………………………………………page 7

Every April by Daniel Propst ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………page 8

Hunting Story by Jocie Fisher page 9

April 20, 2022 by Amari Hutson ………………………………………page 13

Revenge by Amber Corley ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………page 16

A Bike Without Brakes by Kaleigh Pritt …………………………………………………………………………………………page 23

Selfie

BY Melissa Toothman

In most of my photos I'm alone Do you really know my name? Can't you see the life I've known?

From which unspoken wrongs must I atone, Before I'm no longer washed with shame?

In most of my photos I'm alone.

You treat me like I'm made of stone Wish I understood this social game Can't you see the life I've known?

You're the maiden, I'm the crone Could I be the one to blame?

In most of my photos I'm alone.

Do I have this overblown? I'd call you out, but look insane Can't you see the life I've known?

I must break this loneliness I own On happiness I stake my claim

In most of my photos I'm alone You couldn't see the life I've known.

Winter is Broken

By Melissa Toothman

Darkness creeps into morning And coldness blankets my skin

The frigid air keeps moving in Tell me how we win again

Autumn's the perfect masquerade

Its colors burst with awe and life

To shed at the hands of winter's knife Tell me why this has to end

I wish I could dial seasons back Spring and Summer hummed along We barely listen to their song Tell me I can still have strength

The season sprinkles its disguise, Bracing me for Winter's attack

The brightest white, darker than black

Tell me how to bring color back

Last Campfire

By Melissa Toothman

I want to smell like campfire smoke, Sage, patchouli, and frankincense of good conversations and late night confessions of surrendering and letting go of the ashes under the flames of moonlight and starry skies of shuffled decks and intuition of personal power and confidence I want the smell of nights like this To linger longer than a moment Before the trees shed their clothes And the frigid air turns us inward

Every April

By Daniel Propst

Spring brings sharp Rain in a Cascade pulling A flower Parade blazing Green every Single grass blade. The silent pines stand, Sentries for centuries, Over the old outgrowth. Stagnant pooling pools

Long, forgotten lulls lie Cradled between branches Creaking as frosts’ long fingers Pull the pines apart.

Hunting Story

By Jocie Fisher

As the sun comes up, I struggle to keep my eyes open. It's six thirty in the morning and I’m struggling to feel my fingers and toes. I want to stay in the stand as long as I can, but the cold is getting to me. My dad would never say it, but it disappoints him when my sisters and I choose the few extra hours of sleep instead of being in the tree stand before 6am. This had been my third time in the woods since I had been home for Christmas Break, and I hadn’t seen more than a few squirrels.

The morning started with me dragging myself out of bed at least an hour before the sun came up. I began putting on layer after layer to prepare for the well below zero weather I was about to endure. My dad met me in the garage as I finished dressing the heaviest layers of the process. He handed me the gun, sprayed my oversized boots down in deer pee, and handed me the flashlight I needed to make my way through the woods in the dark.

“Goodluck! Have fun!” he says quietly but hopefully.

As much as I wanted to go back to bed, hearing my dad's excitement as I headed out always made it worth it. I had never understood my dad's obsession, or anyone’s really, with sitting out in the woods as many times as possible. He had explained to me that it is a rush or that it is addicting, and while I have always had an interest, I never experienced either of those feelings towards the hobby.

The tree stand is only a short hike up the hill behind the house. Even though it was only fourteen degrees that morning, the uphill hike combined with the hefty amount of clothes on my body had me sweating by the time I had found my way to the ladder of the tree stand. I slugged

the gun over my shoulder and very nervously made my way up the tree. Once I’m in the seat I finally take a breath. I pull down the safety bar in front of me, rest the gun on both the bar and my lap, and lay my head back in an attempt to get some more rest until the sun comes up.

Thirty minutes went by, and as the sun began to rise, I was beginning to be able to see a good distance away. The cold that morning was dreadful, and I knew I wasn’t going to be sitting out there as long as I should. After about an hour, the cold started catching up with me. My thick gloves were no longer doing the trick and my fingers were throbbing.

An hour and a half of no movement in that cold morning was enough for me. I was restless from sitting and moving around would do me no good. I stood up and made my way back to the house.

“Back already?” Dad asked as he laughed at me.

He could sit in the tree stand all day, so he finds it hilarious and blames my unluckiness on me coming back after such a short time. I was cold, frustrated, and not willing to hear any more of his teasing. I explained I would go back out again that evening and headed back to my room to make up for the sleep I unrewardingly lost.

When it was time to head back out, I contemplated going but decided since it had warmed up a little, why not try my luck one more time before going back to school the next day. I began the preparation process once again, putting on layer after layer. My dad was giving me the typical rundown as we both got ready.

“Make sure you know what you’re shooting before pulling the trigger,” he said while I laced up my boots.

“Try not to move around too much,” he said.

I’d heard everything before, but he liked to remind me, and I didn’t stop him.

He was heading out into the woods too, but he went to a different tree stand over the hill behind where I was.

When I got into the stand that afternoon, it was much better than earlier. I had about two and a half hours until dark. I sat there for what seemed like half an hour, but my watch told me it had only been about ten minutes. This was the reason my dad liked the woods so much and I did not; it was too still for me. Somehow, my dad could relax in all the stillness.

To someone who has not been hunting for a while, sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between a squirrel moving around and a deer walking. I heard noise behind me, but I was not able to make out what type of animal it could be. I sat and listened for a while, hoping it would walk out in front of me. Eventually, I very slowly, making myself as least noticeable as possible, turn my head to check out the noise. Instantly my heart started pounding, as I was looking straight at a nine point buck. It wasn't at a very ideal angle, but I slipped off my glove and raised the gun to find the animal in my sight. It was difficult to locate the deer as he never slowly stopped walking away from me.

“If you can see it through your sight, then it’s close enough to shoot,” I could hear my dad’s advice as if he were speaking to me.

It wasn’t going to be the prettiest shot, but I took a deep breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. I did not want to miss. This could be the only deer I saw the whole night. I tried to line the shot better, but the deer would not keep still. I waited a second too long, and the deer walked behind a tree.

I cursed to myself as I put the gun down and slid my gloves on. A minute later, I heard the deer again. I turned where I’d seen the buck, but it wasn’t him. Three small does walked out of the woods towards my hunting stand. By this point, I was losing sunlight and feeling discouraged. I was about to leave when I heard another deer walking behind me. Instantly, my heart started pounding. This had to be the feeling my dad was talking about. I felt the sweat on my palms. It made the gun slick, so I clenched tighter and brought the sight towards the noise. I saw the buck from earlier. He ignored me and walked towards the three doe in the clearing. I felt adrenaline rush over me. Every muscle tensed. The deer moved behind a tree again, and this game me a second to steady my shot. I looked down my sight; I had such a good shot that it would be hard to miss at this distance. The gun felt like an enormous weight, but I held it steady. The deer took one more step, and I switched the safety off. Slowly, too slowly almost, I released my breath as I squeezed the trigger. I finally realized what my dad was always talking about.

By Amari Hutson

In the 1960s and 70s people were having a good time, experimenting with new styles and even drugs. I think that as a world we are going back into that way of things with a few changes. In those days mostly everybody was just “vibing” being that it was post civil rights and people of all ethnicities and walks of life were trying to come together, of course there were still people filled with hate just as there is today as well. One similarity I personally see, and I can’t be the only one who sees this, is the fact there are plenty of articles coming out and people of influence bringing this subject up is the openness and curiosity of psychedelics. Athletes such as Mike Tyson, former NHL player Daniel Carcillo and ex NFL player Kerry Rhodes are part of the growing movement of using plant medicines like ayahuasca and magic mushrooms to heal brain trauma and damage along with PTSD symptoms.

In the 1950s LSD became a thing and sparked a new exploration of the consciousness and psychedelic experiences that hit a huge boom from the mid 60s to mid 70s which changed the artistic landscape of the western world. During this time period people labeled as Hippies rejected mainstream American life and faced backlash from a large portion of people still living in fear of being different for a number of reasons. This was a divide in itself that I believe shaped the way we live now. I will explain why there is another divide taking place right now. Let’s say we have two groups, Hippie and Non hippie, in that time there were more people who looked at hippies as being different in a weird way because if you're different from me there is obviously something wrong with you, right? So if you were in a family that didn’t quite understand these Hippie people and didn’t want to understand them simply because they were different from society's programming of ‘normal’, would you fight the feeling in you that resonates with the movement of openness, love, and tolerance in order to fit in with the ‘normal’ people or would you embody that spirit and live in your authentic self that fills you with passion in all you do?

In an era like that most people would play it safe, and an even smaller amount would rebel against whatever construct/group kept them from honoring their soul's urge. Now let’s say you play it safe and don’t honor your soul's urge to express itself, you programmed yourself to

be a slave spiritually and mentally which will place invisible shackles on you physically. Now that is why for so long as a society and race of humans we have been emotionally manipulated and coerced into believing certain things and physically doing things to each other out of hate and fear. Let’s say you rebel and let your soul express itself, no shackles on you, nothing negative that happens in the world weighs you down or fills your reality with hate and fear. By rebelling you give the ones coming up after you the strength to dare to be themselves and express themselves in their most authentic way.

When we go within ourselves, we express ourselves perfectly but when we listen and rely on the media and somebody who hasn’t been through what you've been through now you're clouded with confusion in who you are and what you truly desire out of this life. The majority of people in this time chose to fit in, which is why we are where we are at this point in time. The few free thinkers from those times who had kids passed down valuable life lessons more important than the things we are programmed with in schools, the original free thinkers who had kids, now their kids have kids and now we are starting that 60s and 70s cycle over.

Let's reflect on the 60s, civil rights movements, police brutality etc. In the 2010’s with Trayvon Martin and other names what did we see? The same stuff. And once again people from all walks of life started to come together for all different reasons, the birth of a new era of free thinking and creation just like the 60s and 70s. After almost a decade of police brutality being in the media everyday, evoking fear and hatred BOOM we go into a global pandemic and a black man killed by police, this set off people in many ways and here goes another divide. Here we are in the house forced to watch updates on COVID and how the courts are handling the George Floyd case, the media just attacked everybody and here we are being manipulated again. People worry about their loved ones' health (which is understandable) which is the fear aspect and the hate aspect comes from a new reason to see black vs white.

It’s no such thing as coincidences. At this point everyone is looking for an escape, but how when somebody we’ll never see has us on lockdown in our own house. Here is the birth of the new free thinkers and artistic rebels. People are forced to sit with their thoughts and emotions and see who they really are and not who they are when they are with their 5 friends and in social settings and have an image to uphold to keep their ego intact. This was the new boom of psychedelic compounds due to the fact people finally realized how weak and neglected their

mental aspect of life was. Some people finally decided to follow their passion of writing, others painting or making music, finally a chance to authentically express themselves and get in touch with themselves in a room all alone. Some people went mad because they became so dependent on external things and found pleasure in artificial matters. Substances like psilocybin in mushrooms are healing to us all, they target brain receptors and allow us to take a look in at ourselves from a perspective we don’t consciously see from enough and we are able to heal ourselves.

The year 2020 was called an unprecedented renaissance of psychedelics per Yahoo.com. Public, institutional and financial interest in psychedelics opened up research that was never seen before and aided many people on their self healing journey. Mushrooms can even be used to treat cancers and repair damaged brain tissue, the things they give us aren’t always what help us. There are liquor stores in almost every village center you see and every corner in cities, and these things rot our brain over time, making us make life altering decisions. Cigarettes are highly addictive and slowly killing people but they are legal. Mushrooms reduce risk of addictions, even opioid addictions which is a huge problem in areas like West Virginia, but the convenience stores will always stay stocked with the things that are shortening our lifespan but a healing fungus that comes from the ground is not accepted for medical use for treatment in the US.

Many people now are starting to see how the constructs that run the world are turning us against one another and taking us further away from our true nature, the psychedelic substances are wiring our brains back to the way they were meant to be. Just like the 60s and 70s the people who see the interconnectedness between living things and beings in today's world are the weird ones, the only difference is that as time goes on as people, we become more open and understanding of different perspectives which is the beauty in this evolution. Humans are a young and dumb species so things take time, the more we drift away from hate and fear the better life will be.

Revenge

By Amber Corley

“No! Please! I'm sorry! Please, you don't have to do this! I didn't mean any of it! No, get away from me! Please somebody help!”

“Danni? Danniella? Ms. Moreau!” the teacher yelled from the front of the classroom. “Have you been paying attention? I have been calling your name for the past five minutes.”

Danni stared at Mrs. Davis as if she had just seen a ghost.

“What just happened?” she thought.

“Have I been in class this whole time? I must have been having another nightmare.”

These ‘nightmares’, as she liked to call them, started soon after she had gotten into her car accident a few weeks ago. The collision had been her fault considering she was too drunk to be at the wheel in the first place, but thankfully she was not hurt too badly. A couple of bruises is all she walked away with, along with a fractured wrist. This however, was not the case for Tommy Baker. Tommy had been driving the other car and died on impact after Danni swerved and hit his car head on.

“His car had been old, so it wasn't my fault, right? It wasn't safe. His family should have bought him a safer car like mine. If he had a car like mine he would not have died, so it's not entirely my fault, right?” she kept telling herself.

“Danni, do you know the answer or not?” asked Mrs. Davis impatiently.

“I um sorry Ma’am I don’t,” She said.

“Hmm. Well, thank you for your honesty. That's enough for today, everyone. You’re dismissed,” the teacher said.

Danni stood, gathered her things, and then began making her way to the bus stop, which is something she absolutely hated having to do. The only positive thing about the situation is that her best friend, DeLainy, is also stuck riding the bus with her. DeLainy is a horrible driver and never passed her driver’s test, so she always rode with Danni everywhere she went.

“Girl this blows,” DeLainy huffed as she plopped down in the seat next to Danni, “I wish you still had your car.”

“Yeah, I hate riding the bus with all of the losers and rejects of this school,” replied Danni.

“I know right? Everything was going great until Baker boy had to trash your car. He was super creepy too. I still can’t believe that he spent all his time researching occult stuff. Like, why would you bother studying ghosts and other spooky stuff like that. It's super gross,” DeLainy said with a sour look on her face.

“Come on Dee, I know this sucks and all, but he is dead you know? We probably shouldn't talk bad about him, even if he was really creepy. I still feel bad about him not making it.”

Just as Danni had stopped speaking she noticed that one of the bus windows across from her was foggy. She stared at it while DeLainy blabbered on about nothing in particular, as something that resembled a hand print slowly appeared on the window.

“Dee, do you see that,” Danni asked as she pointed at the handprint.

“See what? Are you mental?” DeLainy replied.

“Never mind. I think I’m just tired,” Danni said as she looked back up to see the handprint and fog gone from the window. Suddenly she did not feel like talking anymore, so she turned and watched the world pass through the bus window for the rest of the ride home.

“Mom, I'm home!” Danni yelled as she burst through the front door.

“Hello sweetie, how was school?” Her mom asked with a smile.

“Ugh, I told you to stop asking! It's always boring. I'll be in my room until dinner.”

“Honey, why don't you stay down here and talk to your father and I? We never get to see you because you're always in that room of yours.”

“I told you mom, I have a lot of stuff to do and besides you should focus on making dinner anyway. I'm starving and it's not done yet.”

“Danniella Moreau! Don't walk away from me young lady! You have been acting more distant than usual and I know you don't like to talk about it, but you have been acting weird since the accident. Is everything okay sweetie?”

“I told you, I'm fine mom,” she replied while looking at the floor. The truth was that she had been seeing strange things since the crash and it was starting to freak her out, but how was she going to tell her mom? Why would she even bother her about it? Besides, the last thing she wanted was to be put in a mental institution. She looked back up as she started to consider opening up to her mother, but she noticed a strange dark spot in the living room behind her mom. Feeling a sudden urge to get away from the darkness, all she wanted to do was feel safe in her room.

“I appreciate you checking on me mom, but I’m okay. I just need a nap, so can I please go upstairs?” Danni asked as innocently as she could.

“I suppose,” her mother replied with a defeated sigh.

With that, Danni dashed up to her room and slammed the door. Her parents were always so happy all the time and would never leave her alone. She honestly had the perfect life until this crash. All she wanted was to go out with her friends, party, and stop seeing things that aren't there. Was that too much to ask?

“I hate him. Why did he have to die? I mean, I feel awful about it but, why couldn't he have been hurt like I was. No, he had to die. I bet he wanted this to happen. His life sucked anyway so why not go ahead and end it? He had no friends, only his dad at home, and everyone hated him anyway. He probably saw my car coming and didn’t move because he wanted to die but didn't have the courage to do it himself,” she muttered out loud.

As all these thoughts swirled in Danni’s head she heard a loud smacking noise come from the bookshelf behind her. She turned around to see what the cause was. She then saw a single book that had fallen from the bookshelf. She stood and walked over to put the book back. However, she did not recognize the book when she picked it up.

The book had nothing on the front except for a double infinity symbol, and as she flipped it over to examine it, the spine of the book caught her eye.

“Titus Andronicus,” Danni read the title out loud. She had never read the book and had no idea why it was on her bookshelf. Normally, she would not think much of something like this, but this time it really bothered her, so she pulled out her laptop and googled the book. The results did not give her much other than it was a play by Shakespeare. As she searched a little more she saw a picture of the symbols on the front of the book. Her eyes widened as she read the meaning aloud.

“Revenge,” she said to herself.

Her mouth felt dry and her stomach dropped as the lights in her room went out with a faint tick. Danni hated the dark. She was too afraid to scream, but gathered the courage to run to her door. She longed to be downstairs in the light with her parents, but any hope she had of that was drained when she grabbed the door handle and it did not move. Locked. At this point she began to hear the horrible scraping metal sound that she had heard during the crash. She may not have remembered much of that night, but she could never forget the awful noise of the impact. She began to cry and fell to the floor, too weak from fear to do anything but lie there terrified.

“Please, please don't hurt me whatever you are. I can't do this. I'm afraid, please just let me go. I haven't done anything wrong, please this must be a mistake,” she sobbed.

Trembling, she sat there still hearing nothing but the awful noise of metal grinding on metal when she began to feel freezing. She closed her eyes as she began to smell an earthy aroma. She recognized it from when she helped her mom with gardening when she was little.

“What I would give to be back there right now,” she thought.

The smell continued to get stronger and the sound was getting louder. Then the room fell silent, for how long she didn't know, but she sat there still praying to whatever God would listen to make it all stop until she heard a familiar voice.

“Hello Danni,” a voice said. She didn't move. She didn’t breathe. She didn't open her eyes. She did nothing because she knew that voice.

“That's impossible,” she thought. “No, this is not possible. I'm dreaming right now. I am going to wake up and this will all be over.”

That is when she made the mistake of opening her eyes. What she saw was a mangled, bloody figure that barely resembled a human body. She was too afraid to speak, and for a long time she just stared with tears streaming down her face.

“Well, you aren't going to say hello to me? I figured it was the least you could do since you took everything from me, or maybe torment me some more. Is that what you want to do? Have any insults at the ready today Danniella?”

She moved her mouth but nothing came out. She didn't know what she wanted to say, but she tried coming up with something.

“I'm sorry,” she mouthed silently.

The figure snorted a laugh.

“Sorry? You think sorry is going to cut it? You made everyday of my life hell and then you killed me! How exactly do you think sorry is going to be enough? You see Danni, if you had taken a closer look at the book you would have seen my initials on it. Do you know why I used this book to scare you?”

Danni sat there, silent with tears blurring her vision, and simply nodded, but she already knew. She remembered now. It was the first thing she had ever taken from him. She stole it and threw it in the dumpster outside of the school last year. Her eyes widened with the realization as she found her voice to speak.

“I am so sorry Tommy, for everything and I mean it. I never meant to hurt you and all the jokes at school were just harmless pranks. I am truly sorry.”

“Oh,” replied Tommy with an evil grin, “you aren't yet, but you will be.”

“No! Please! I'm sorry! Please, you don't have to do this! I didn't mean any of it! No, get away from me! Please somebody help!”

Danni’s mother walked up the stairs. There were none of the normal sounds that could usually be heard coming from a teenage girl’s room. No loud music or talking on the phone. Nothing.

“Danni, honey dinner is ready,” her mother said.

She waited a minute before knocking lightly.

“I'm coming in, okay, sweetheart?” her mother asked.

She pushed the door open. After she peered inside, no other sound could be heard except for the ear piercing shriek of Danni’s mother. A sound that would most likely never be forgotten by any of the Moreau’s neighbors for the rest of their lives.

A Bike Without Brakes

By Kaleah Pritt

I wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead as I ran out to my driveway. The sun was shining so bright, I had to use my arm to shield the bright light from my eyes. Slowly, my uncle’s gray, bulky truck approached with my cousin, John hanging out the passenger window screaming, “I brought my bike! We’re going to race!” The truck comes to a stop as my uncle and John get out of the truck.

“My brakes aren’t working well, but I’m still going to beat you in that race,” I said as My uncle raised John’s bike out of the bed of the truck. His bike looked brand new, bright blue in color, no scratches, no specks of dirt, and bright white tires.

“Did you get a new bike? I thought yours was orange,” I asked.

“We had to get him this bike because he outgrew his orange one. You guys have fun today and make sure you drink some water. It’s hot out today. I’ll be back to get you later, John,” said My uncle.

My uncle then got in his truck, and we watched as the dirt stirred up behind his truck tires. “Let’s go get my bike so we can get warmed up for this race,” I say.

As we began to walk toward the old gray building that my bike stayed in. We hadn’t had much rain this summer. The dead grass crunched under our feet as we walked to the building.

We pulled out my old, worn out bike. It’s pink, with multiple scratches and a broken kickstand. The tires lack tread and appear very smooth. One handlebar had tape where my hand wore out the old rubber piece that covered the metal handlebar.

“After we warm up, I think we should race down the hill,” said John as we walk back to the driveway.

I was a little skeptical at first, as my breaks weren’t in the best condition, but I reassured myself that I have road my bike down that hill hundreds of times.

“Sounds good to me!” I said.

After we road up and down the driveway a few times we started walking up the road to the hill we were going to race down. I lived on a backroad, so there wasn’t much traffic on this paved road, allowing us to ride our bikes along it.

As we walked our bikes up the road, we reached the hill. This hill was very long and very steep. We took multiple breaks to breathe while walking up the hill. About a quarter of the way up the hill was a gigantic turn. This turn was so big, that we called it the “C” turn because when you got to the end of the turn, if you looked to your left, you could see the beginning of the turn. While walking in this turn, I notice a lot of loose gravel on top of the pavement.

After what felt like 30 minutes, we finally reached the top of the hill.

“Are you ready to lose, Kaleah?” said John.

“In your dreams,” I said laughing. We then began to line our front tires up perfectly.

“3, 2, 1 GO,” screamed John.

At first, John was ahead of me, but I began pedaling as fast as I could. My legs started to get tired, and my adrenaline was increasing as I reach the “C” turn. I notice right before the turn I had a big lead against John. I felt so much pride! Then I realized he’s slowing down before the turn. I hit my

breaks, but nothing happened. I knew I should put my feet down to slow down my bike, but with my adrenaline and the need to win at an all time high, I believed I could successfully make the turn.

As I reached the turn, I slowly turned my handlebars. My back tire slid on some gravel immediately, but quickly caught traction. Halfway through the turn, I saw a huge patch of gravel in the road. I immediately knew that this was probably going to turn out badly, but I had no time to react.

Before I knew it, my back tire slid out from under me, and I hit the road and slid about 3 feet on my knee and elbow.

“Kaleah, are you okay?” asked John.

I got up, scared to look down at my knee. It felt like someone was holding a lighter to it, so instead I looked to see if my bike was broken. Immediately I notice that the tire and the handlebars created a 90 degree angle, making it impossible for me to ride my bike home.

“My bike is broken; I’m going to run home. There’s something wrong with my knee,” I said, and I turned around and ran as fast as I could.

When I got to our mailboxes, I felt some liquid run down my leg onto my sock. Still too scared to look at my knee, I stared at the black mailbox. I reached down to my sock to get some of the warm liquid on my fingers. I saw blood covering three of my fingers.

My heart immediately began to race even harder than it already was, and I started running even faster. When I walked through the door, my mom was standing in the kitchen.

“Kaleah, what happened?” she asked.

I immediately burst into tears, screaming as if my leg was going to fall off, “Fix it Mom! It hurts so bad! What’s it look like? I can’t look! I wrecked my bike!” I said.

As she cleaned and bandaged up my knee, I explain to her what happened.

“What did you learn from this accident?” She asked.

That day I learned a lesson that has since stuck with me throughout the years.