I was seven years old, sitting on a seat with two wheels. I can’t believe such a thing could get you hurt so much. My bike, it was so shiny and a pretty lavender purple. My face lit up when I first saw it. It was amazing how excited I was. I decided to go down the street with it and came to a stop at the top of my hill; my hill is like a whole new Mount Everest. My older sister, Tiffany, began talking to me. I had my back facing towards the bottom of the hill. I was holding onto a pole, so I wouldn’t go anywhere.

I don’t know why I let go of that pole; all I know is that I shouldn’t have. Screaming my lungs out, I go flying down the hill. I felt like I was in a whole new Nascar but with a little bike. I didn’t know how to stop, it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. It felt like I was going to go forever, still backwards, I go shooting off of my bike like a shooting star. I go clear out into the middle of the street, almost getting hit by a car; luckily I didn’t.

My uncle pulls around the corner and picks me up and takes me home in a hurry. Of course, my mom flips out. What mom wouldn’t?! My grandma runs to get the first aid kit and pours two bottles of rubbing alcohol on my knee. It looked like my kneecap was gone. I didn’t need stitches, I almost did though. To this day I do not ride any type of bike, haven’t ever since. That day has scarred me for life, literally.