This Particular Story Series May Include Content That Some Might Find Troubling


I had managed to hurt myself last night in the room, a few cuts going across my wrist halfway down my arm, some deep, some not, some hurt, some didn’t, some burnt, some didn’t, some grew hard and stiff on the inside and the others were still a bit gooey. Father was very understanding and nice. He consoled me and told me that I going to be all right and even attended to my wounds, using his cream on them and wrapping them around in bandage cloth. He told me that my arm would be as good as new by the end of the week, which made me very happy, because this one was starting to hurt me. Father told me that I shouldn’t worry about the way I hurt myself and to forget about it. He told me it’s not right for good little nine-year-old girls to think about such stuff. Never bad, always good. Mother always taught me that.

Father managed to cuddle a thick piece of gauze between my arm and the bandage, which he said would keep it from itching. I believed him, because I didn’t want him to feel upset, but I knew, and I felt it. It still itched. He told me to not take it off, or risk an infection and even more itching. I wasn’t going to anyways. I don’t like to itch my wounds, because I don’t like seeing them get gooier.

Mother called us downstairs for lunch, and I realized that I woke up later than I had previously thought. Father and I hurried down the stairs to the little round table we had right next to our kitchen, inside which Mother was tossing up the salad. Elena was the only one not downstairs yet, which made me worried, I didn’t want her to miss her food and eat it cold later in the day. She needs her food to play with me and Chelsea later. Mother said she didn’t want her to get any weaker.

“I’ll go fetch Eli.” I told Mother and Father and dashed upstairs to her room, the small door one, at the end of the hall next to mine. I noticed that she had peeled off another flower sticker from her door, but left a small piece still stuck. I never knocked on her door, she knows I can come in and go as I want. We agreed to this rule long ago. As long as I am a year older than her, I don’t need to ask for her permission for anything. I bet Eli sometimes wished I died early, so that she could get more birthdays and grow older than me and then walk into my room without asking anyone. That would be silly for her to wish for though, I would always let her in.

I turned the stiff knob and walked inside, loudly whispering “Is anyone home?”
Elena was smothering herself under her blanket and I think I heard sobbing. I nudged her back and asked her what the matter was. She rolled over to face me with her jiggly round face, her big blue eyes obviously wet, I could tell even with the lights off in the dim room.
“I don’t like it when you hurt,” she sobbed out to me and I hugged her.
“I don’t like it much either,” I told her. “But I did it. I’m sorry it made both of us sad. I’ll try not to do I again, okay?”
“Promise?” she held out her hand to me and I shook it, taking the older sister burden of keeping my promises. Elena thinks I’m a good elder sister, so I always do my best to make sure she always feels that way. I would like her to tell Chelsea or Margret one day, that she thinks I’m a wonderful big sister.

I managed to bring her down before the first dish could be placed on the table, so we helped Mother out in setting the plates and utensils. We ate fried rice and steamed chicken, to our fill, thanked Mother, washed our own dishes, and then skipped over to the T.V room neighboring the kitchen and watched cartoons for a good long hour. Father came by almost immediately by 3 O’ clock and told to get ready for class. It was Friday, and I had forgotten about that. Elena hopped over to her room and then carried her little pink backpack straight to our parent’s room downstairs. I took mine to the extra guest room we had upstairs, where father was sitting ready with a small marker board and marker. He’s a very smart man, and I’m glad that he teaches me all his tricks. I want to be just as smart.

One day I hope to do my own bandage.

Chapter 2 : It’s Not Right


Chapter 3: No, You’re Wrong


Chapter 4 : Where The Bad Goes

Chapter 5: She Was Right

Chapter 6 : No More Bandages

Chapter 7 : Not What I Wanted

Chapter 8: You Are Not Allowed

Chapter 9: Always lying

Chapter 10: Colder Than Bruises

Chapter 11: In The Night

Chapter 12: All My Innocence



4 thoughts on “I’M SORRY- I DON’T UNDERSTAND (pt 1 of 12)

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