When I Fell Off My Bike

June 3, 2010
By jordan allen BRONZE, Menifee, California
jordan allen BRONZE, Menifee, California
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

One day after school, my friend asked, “Want to go on a bike ride?”

“Yeah, let’s go!”

So, my friend and I took off to the hills. The hills were just a place to go and do whatever we wanted, and it was right down the street from my house. Once we got there, we found this hill that was so steep that it looked like the Eiffel Tower. Well it was crazy big to me, because I was only seven. My friend decided to go down the big steep hill first.
Afterwards he told me, “Come on, you can do it.”

So, I got on my bike and looked down I was so scared looking down this big steep hill.
“Just go for it! You got it! Just don’t think about it!”
All of a sudden, I went for it. I sped down the hill and made it, but then out of no where, I hit a cut down sing and fell. My bike handlebars hit me in the back of my head, and I started bleeding like crazy—it was just poring out.
My friend coaxed me, “Get up, man. You’re ok.”
But really, I wasn’t. I got up anyways and had to ride my bike home. The whole way, I could think about was how did this happen, and what was I going to tell my mom.
While we were riding home, my friend kept telling me, “We’re almost there—we’re almost there—just a little longer.” We finally got to my house.
When I walked inside, my mom asked, “What happened? Why are you bleeding?”
By this time, I was in so much pain that I could only say, “I need stitches.”
“Well, let’s clean you up first and if you need stitches, we’ll go get them.”
My mom grabbed a couple towels and put my head in the sink and washed the blood away. After I was cleaned up, it looked like some one died there was so much blood!
“Let me look. Yep, you need stitches.”
We got in the car and went to the hospital. Once I was there, the doctors asked “What happened?”
I told them, and they looked at my head they said, “Yep, you need about eight to nine stitches. It might hurt, but you have to stay still.”
I agreed “Ok,” I winced, “do what you have to do.”
That day I got eight stitches, but at least I’m still alive.

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