Day 2: Feel the Pain

Topic: Is it true that women have a higher threshold for pain than men do? We do have to give birth, after all…Write (very graphically) about a sensation of pain that you have had or that your character is having. And I’m not talking about emotional pain. Use your own blog for that crap.

"Come on, Zach! One more strike!" I hear from behind the the blue retaining wall.

"OK! Ready or not, here I come!"

With the bleachers knocked out by the tornado, the stadium is a little bare lately. The few parents that come just set lawn chairs and blankets down on the sidewalk. Leave the children to amuse themselves. My cousin and I were playing hide and seek with a neighbor kid, finding any corner we could in the bright blue retaining wall that could at least cover us in shadow.

Funny, how hide and seek most often turns into a game of tag. Conor is getting close and I got to get out of this corner before he can get to me. I stand up and survey my surroundings. I've got a clear path around the retaining wall, up to my mom's blanket. I'm safe there. Escpecially, while playing with cousins.

The plan is in action. I jump to the top of the wall. "Five feet or so to the end of the wall. Then jump," my brain explains to the rest of me. Simple enough. "And watch out for that bolt sticking out at the end. Don't trip." OK.

Right. Left. Right. --- "Oh, shit." A gust of wind blows around my face. I open my eyes. Grey. Grey is all I see. Thick grey. Not foggy. Not smokey. More gritty. Broken. Disheveled. It's falling toward me. It's going to get me. There's no way to avoid it. It's too large.

Suddenly the wind stops. In it's place is a grey thud. My arms buckle. The grey smashes into my knees. Then my chest. Another gust of wind, this time coming out of me. The world flips over a couple of times.

I push my face up off the gravel. Digging more tiny pebbles into the palms of my hands. I look down at my hands. Scrapes. Gravel. Blood. "This isn't bad," my brain explains again. "Just a few scratches." No big deal. "Let's do a quick inventory just to make sure." OK.

Hands: scrapes, gravel, blood, minimal pain, slight stinging. Check.
Legs: few scrapes on knees, minimal gravel, slight stinging. Check.
Feet: fine. Check.
Arms: minimal scrapes and gravel, slight stinging. Check.

Looking good. Getting less severe with each "Check."

Last, my head. I dust off some of the gravel from my hand, reach up to my head. Rocks. Gravel. Small jagged pebbles stuck to my head. I try to dust them off, but it stings. Worse than any of the other scrapes. I look down at my hand. Covered in red pebbles. Red?

I look down where my face had been to see where the red pebbles had come from. I hadn't remembered there being any red pebbles in this sidewalk. Just a small oval shaped section was red. And wet. That had come from me. I turned the rocks red.

Thats when it hit me! Throbbing! Pounding! Then... the blood curdling scream that was apparently coming from me.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

My cousin, my mom and the neighbor kid race to my side. I still haven't figured out what's happened. My mom reaches up to me and shoves her fingers into the rocks on my face. Every time her hand came down, a rock came with it. It felt like every time her hand came up, another got shoved in.

After what seemed like hours, my mom grabs me around the waist and carries me away. Into this dark, dingy, smelly building. The locker room. Finds the shower and stands me under it while she runs freezing water over me. The rocks tumble across my face, stinging with every bounce.

I look up to get a glance in the mirror. Perverse curiosity.

I can't see anything.