So... confession time. I didnt' write it this week . Or even this year. The word was actually "escape" and I wrote something and then I lost it. And then I realized I hadn't posted in like three weeks. So... then I found this.
:S
It was an accident.
An accident, but it doesn’t matter.
It was an accident.
He only meant to pick it up, to examine the shiny metal object, always locked up. He had been told not to touch it, and so that desire had become his obsession.
It was an accident.
Who would have known it would make such a big noise? He hadn’t. He only wanted to hold it, not hurt it.
It was an accident.
Something had broken off in the explosion, and was now embedded in his foot. It hurts. It hurts so much. But he is too scared to scream, because he might get in trouble. And they might not believe him. They might have thought he did it on purpose.
It was an accident.
He is bleeding. He is bleeding and it hurts and he is crying, crying, crying. But he must stay silent or he might get in trouble.
But it was an accident.
He is afraid he will be punished anyway. Still. Why would his parents leave something so dangerous in the house? It was always carefully shut away, but he had only wanted to look. He didn’t mean to break it.
It was an accident.
Someone was running up the stairs, close to him now. He stares at the blood coming out of his foot. He tries to stand, to hide. But there is not time. His mother’s worried face appares. He wails.
“It was an accident!”
She closes her eyes and her mouth opens. This is it. He will be yelled at now. He lowers his head in shame. But she doesn’t yell. She lunges for the phone and presses tee buttons… and she cries too as she talks to someone on the other end.
“It was an accident,” she says.
The sirens pull up. He is surrounded by yelling and noise and strangers. Is this his punishment?
It was an accident!
They rush him away to a large building. Jail? And his mommy is with him, and she is crying at what a horrible thing he has done. She didn’t need to cry. He isn’t a bad person.
It was an accident.
Years later, he goes through life with a piece of plastic. He puts it on in the morning and leaves it by his bed at night. The prosthetic foot keeps him from running and some sports, and things all his friends do. But it can’t be helped. Still, he doesn’t like to think about what happened. Whenever someone asks, he only ever says the same thing.
“It was an accident.”
They never ask again.
It was an accident.
Just an accident.
*blinks* Gah. Was planning to review this quite a while ago, but never got round to doing it. Oh well. No time like the present. Righty-o.
ReplyDeleteUm...this was an interesting piece. The perspective of the child was well done because the language was simple, and the repitition contributed to it feeling childlike too.
Since it was from the perspective of a child, his actions are understandable. First, with the curiousity of the gun (it is a gun, right?) and wanting what he couldn't have. And then the shock of what happens when it goes off. What's kinda funny, in a sense, is that he's more scared of getting told off for handling the mysterious object than the fact that he's hurt. Which, I think, is actually realistic for some kids because of social conditioning and whatnot.
Oh, and the repitition sounds like he's trying to deny the fact that it was actually his own fault that he now needs a prosthetic foot so he could be less regretful.
Not too sure whether getting shot in the foot would really require a fake foot though. I dunno.*is totally uneducated about stuff like this*
Anyways, awesome. :)
I like how it captures that child-like point of view so well, and the language that you used, along with the whole repetition thing; although simple, it made it all the more powerful.
ReplyDeleteNice. It's good.