"Sue-nannah, I watch coo-toons?" -Alexa

I had to write this up for a short English paper:


There is one physical reminder of that April evening: A smooth two-inch scar above my left eyebrow. A scar representing the most frightening night of my life.
My friend, Brittany, lived next door to a family of 6 boys. As thirteen-year-old girls, this was exciting to us. One April night we noticed two of the boys, Skylar and Travis, playing in their yard. Brittany and I planned a surprise attack on them with a garden hose. After the initial shock of being doused with water, the boys retaliated with their own garden hose. Soon we were in the midst of a full-fledged water fight.
After quite a long battle, we girls were ready to give up and retreat indoors. The boys would have none of it. They began to get annoyed. Skylar jokingly yelled for Travis to “get the bat”, referring to a metal baseball bat. Travis did as he thought his older brother wanted him to. Although I was no longer in their yard, Travis threatened me with the bat. I was in mid-sentence, trying to explain I didn’t want to fight him, when he swung the bat at my face.
I staggered back after the shocking blow. My hand reached for my forehead, feeling the point of impact. When I pulled back my hand I noticed it was covered in blood. As blood began to stream down my face, I yelled for Brittany. When she didn’t initially hear me I began to scream her name. She came running to me and upon seeing the blood now dripping off my chin into a small puddle on the driveway, ran in her house to get her father. I continued screaming, for no reason other than I was in complete shock. Neighbors began coming from their homes toward me. Soon I had seven men surrounding me, trying to calm me down. My family doctor, who lived nearby, happened to be “on call” that evening and rushed over. My father brought by the family car to take me to meet the doctor at his office. I received two layers of stitches--a dissolvable and the standard removable stitches.
Although that night was nearly seven years ago, I clearly remember the feelings of fear and desperation that accompanied the shock. The scar that runs just above my eyebrow reminds me of how I should treat others—nothing that could result in retaliation.