My Series of Unfortunate Events

May 19, 2009 • Erin Butler  
Filed under Creative Writing

 

My Series of Unfortunate Events

As I spit the dirt out of my mouth and regained my breath, I yelled at my brother three words that I often directed at him: “I hate you!” This is a small piece of a horrible memory from my childhood. I am seventeen years old and so far I have been pretty lucky with staying out of harm’s way. While most of my friends were taking frequent trips to the hospital and accumulating countless scars, I was playing hop- scotch and climbing on the jungle gym. No, my parents did not keep me in a plastic bubble and I wasn’t afraid of a grand adventure. I have climbed many trees and taken more than a few crashes. This all changed when I was about eight years old.

One day I took a beating.  I was in the backyard jumping on the trampoline with my brother. The sweet aroma of magnolia trees filled the air and the sun was so hot it felt as if it could melt me, leaving behind only a pile of blonde hair. It was a normal day at the Butler house in Florida and I was wearing the dress I wore every day, white with blue stripes and gorgeous sunflowers all over. Brenden and I took turns bouncing each other super high and that day my turn ended badly. My foot landed in between the bars which caused me to fall over like a rag doll and smack my stomach on the bar. The crash took the air out of me and knocked me to the ground. It felt as if all of my organs rushed up into my throat or someone ripped out my lungs and stomped on them. When I managed to pull myself up, I had a mouthful of dirt and a splitting headache. That’s where the words “I hate you” came into play, and I ran inside to find my dad. I pulled open the door, but before I could squeeze myself through, the heavy wooden door came crashing down on my big toe. Now I was aching, breathless, dirty, and my toe was gushing blood. All I wanted to do was reach my dad so I dragged my foot down the hallway, only to run into yet another obstacle. Someone had left a tool out on the floor and I smashed my gruesome bloody toe into the sharpest part.  Lucky me. This sent me plummeting to the floor and left me with a massive gash in my toe.

Finally, torn and battered, I reached the kitchen.  My dad scooped me up and mended my toe. He wasn’t too psyched about the trail of blood through the house. The next day my toenail detached itself from my swollen purple toe, definitely the most disgusting sight I have ever experienced. It had a pinkish color and it looked like it had been soaking in a warm bathtub for two days. Now I know why toes have toenails.  My series of unfortunate events which showed me that I couldn’t escape danger forever.