Dear Angel,

This is not an advice letter, like the others, it is just a story. Actually it is a story of how I cut my hand. I just felt like writing this in here anyways. Okay, so it was around the middle of seventh grade, the last day of the second quarter to be exact, and actually less than two weeks before my 13th birthday too! Well, that day I had a social studies test, not just any test though. This was the test that would determine if I kept a B-, becoming eligible for the National Junior Honors Society, or getting a C+, ruining my chances.

So I was waiting for my grade downstairs, and the pressure was on! My mom was upstairs on the phone, so there was a flight of stairs keeping us apart. When I saw my grade I was thrilled! I actually moved up a letter grade! So I ran, more like attempted to run, up the stairs, but I didn't actually make it up there.

Instead, I decided to trip on the bottom step and break my fall. I mean by literally breaking something. What you think a broke was a bone right. Well, it wasn't. Nope! Instead I broke an already cracked picture frame that just happened to be sitting in the right spot at the bottom of the stairs. Now, when I say that I broke the picture frame, I really mean the glass part, completely shattered. And along with that came a huge, deep gash in my hand, and some sliced fingers. I won't go into details, because they are pretty gross, but I will say that I got to stay up late that night, along with 3 bandaged fingers, 6 stitches in my hand, and a lot of blood!

Okay, don't feel too bad for me!

Here is a funny thing that happened, well according to me it was funny. Here is the exact dialogue between my mom and I:

(glass breaking, what my mom described as a glass breaking 10 feet above hardwood flooring)

Me: MOM...

Mom: What was that?( concerned)

Me: I think I cut my hand?! (not worried sounding, kind of amused)

Mom: WHAT?!?!! (freaking out as she comes to the stairs) OH MY GOD!!!!

Me: call nine-one-one! (still sounding worried, though in my head I was freaking out)

Mom: okay....

Me in my head: please God, don't let me die, please, please, please......

( I put my hand in the air to elevate it, though it bleeds a lot still)

Mom: (After calling) okay, um...go to the kitchen and keep your hand elevated... (still freaking out)

Me: Mom calm down. Jacob don't come in here! (Jacob is my 10 year old brother, who was nine at the time, and he was in the room next to me)

Mom: (starts hyperventilating and pacing around) oh my GOD. THAT'S A LOT OF BLOOD! does it hurt...are you okay... don't cry...

Me: I'm not going to cry, mom, it stings but I am fine. (trying to lighten the mood) Hey guess what?

Mom: What!?!??!

Me: I was going upstairs to tell you something.

Mom: WHAT?!

Me: I got a good grade on my social studies test. (I say completely calm, and with a smile)

Mom: (hugs me) That's awesome honey!!!

Me: thought you might want to know that, and by the way, CALM DOWN!!! I'm fine it just stings a little.

(the ambulance gets here)

AAAAAAND, scene. ;-D

Yeah, so that was the conversation, between my mom and I. I was pretty calm, which I was surprised about, and that helped my mom get calm, and DON'T WORRY, my hand I fine now. I just have a scar, and my dad likes to call my hand a baseball glove from where the scar is.

But the bad thing was that, I had my contacts in which I usually took out with two hands, luckily I got them out with one hand somehow. But the worst thing was that in less than a week I had a fourteen page hand written, authentic to Betsy Rosses personality, meaning I had to write a fourteen page journal in cursive in someone else's point of view...with a cut hand. I ended up getting an extra day to finish that up, I chose one day, my social studies teacher would've given me more though, and I ended up with a B+ grade for the assignment, which I was satisfied with.

So that was the story of how I cut my hand.

The lesson: don't run up the stairs.

I love you if light give out and darkness takes over

Love, Mom ♥

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Hey everyone!

This is a true story, nothing is made up.

Sorry if it freaks you out...but if you have any questions just message me!

Bye guys!!! ☺