I used to swear.

Yep. I was one dirty mouthed teen back in.... sixth grade? Yeah, seems about right. I'd be spitting curses without a single care in the world, in every. Single. Fluffing. Sentence. As soon as I learned a word that was harsh, I'd adopt it (with a few exceptions).

To say the least, it was awful, I got in trouble A LOT, and it had to stop. But how do I do it? well I can inflict pain on myself, like a slap on the wrists, for example. But I'd probably go easy. Oh! I know, summer is coming up, so for every swear word... A week without ice cream.

Yeah that seems appropriate. Ask my friends to point out a few slip ups, help me out here and there and I'm good! Challenge? No, forks, shoots, darns, or he-double toothpicks. The substitutes are okay, umm... wait. But then what if I don't get ice cream anyway? Hmm, guess I'll figure it out.

So later on in the cafeteria, my friends and I were sort of just sitting around and cracking jokes that make no sense, as per usual. As soon as we had a small break in goofing off I told my best friend, who we shall call Geko for this story. Geko is my friend from first grade, so we are very close, despite only seeing each other in school.

I tell Geko all about my own self no-swearing question, and inevitably brought up the problem of not having ice cream. It was then when one of us, I don't remember who at this point, suggested that we just go over to her house for ice cream at 1 a.m.

It started as a joke. We looked the idea over, and before I knew it we stopped laughing and were speaking in hushed tones, figuring out times and dates and what to do in case our parents wake up.

And it was official. We were going to pull this off. And if we didn't, we'd have to face the unleashed wrath of raging parents, and maybe the police would get involved. I shrugged that thought off way too easily.

The month was over. I managed to speak english fluently without cursing, and it really worked. I don't swear as much, and use appropriate substitutes if I need to. But that's not what the story's all about now, is it?

And so, one fine summer night I got up at 12:30 and put on the darkest clothing I could find. When I tried to walk down the stairs, it seemed like they wanted to scream and warn everyone that someone was sneaking. I got out of the house, almost without a problem.

The air was covered in a thick layer of fog, and street lamps lit up empty roads. Everything was still and quiet. I felt like I was the only person alive, as I crept down a darker street

It was deathly silent, and extremely dark. It was at this point that I was the most afraid. I didn't bring anything with me. If I dropped whatever, it would go missing with no explanation, and having earned a reputation as 'the one who loses/breaks everything', I would be the first person they'd question, no doubt about it.

After 10 minutes of walking and one anxious wait at the backdoor, the two of us had settled down and were whispering a conversation. We watched anime and nibbled on pretzels afterward.

That morning it started raining. hard. I smelled the rain a few seconds before the first drops fell through the fog and in a few heartbeats it started to drizzle. The fog cleared away, and as it did the soft drops escalated into harsh arrows made out of water.

And I kid you not, I had to run back to my house, open the door, and step into the kitchen, soaking wet. By the time I got back, lightning was crashing, and I could see the sky and rooftops turning white. My parents? They didn't wake up.

Thankfully, it was the last time I ran into a storm. Oh no, no, this wasn't the last time. I'd go over every few weeks, and it was honestly very nice, I'd say the terrifying journey to and from was worth it.

As the colder days started, and my hoodie was blocking the wind less and less, we agreed to stop the meetings entirely. It was going to be a one-summer thing. It would fade, and die a secret. Still, a funny memory I would treasure, and under no circumstance would tell anyone.