The Run-Personal Narrative

A chilling scream filled the house. The kind of scream that makes everything stop and drains the blood from your face. The sound of little feet ran to the bottom of the stairs. Scenarios began to flow through my mind, I thought of the worst possible things all in a matter of seconds; is he hurt, did he break something, did he lose a limb! He shouted as loud as he could under the tears, “Loly Loly Loly I need help!”. I frantically lept out of bed and began to run. My heart was beating as if it were to squeeze all of the beats I had left in me into 10 seconds. I raced down the stairs like there was a blistering fire behind me to tend to my sobbing nine year old brother. He lifted his arm to show me why he was so upset and as he picked it up, his elbow bent in ways that yoga instructors can’t. I went to feel if it was swollen. His elbow felt like a stress ball and looked like a freshly inflated hot air balloon. I was petrified. My chest felt empty, the air had left my body the same way a sprinter leaves start line. I knew it was a break.

Luckily my neighbors are doctors. Cradling him in my arms all the way across the street I ran to the door and rang the doorbell ten times. With a screaming child in my arms my neighbor new it wasn’t just a bump, it was more. He told me I had to take him to the hospital. When I heard the word hospital I froze and began to cry. What was I going to tell my parents? I was in no shape to drive. Thankfully, my neighbor drove us. We arrived at the hospital and met my parents, they had been out at a concert in town. It was in this moment, that I knew I had made a mistake. When I saw the look on my parents faces, I realized that this was my fault. I was in charge of watching my brother. I began to tear up