knife in hand, hours of time and a piece of wood leaning up against the old wood shed. I have been practicing so long to hit that quite impossible throw to hit the bulls-eye that the woodsy and sweaty smell isn't bothering me at all anymore. "This is it... the one throw" i told myself i would hit this throw for the first time in the hundreds to thousands of throws that missed, this will be it.
arching back with a loose rip on the throwing knife, i threw it. It sunk right in. perfectly the blade went very deep. into the wrong target...
i helplessly watched my dog bleed in the yard i cry over him and rush as fast as i can into the house to get my parents, crying i rushed them over to the spot where she lay hopeless to see the next day.
then next morning i wake up outside late so i rush to my room to change and eat and all my other morning chores before the bus comes i get done just in time as i dash out the front door to the buss stop and get on right before it leaves i'm silent as i'm scared i might bawl my eyes if i make any noise
solemnly i went through my day not speaking or paying attention to anything or much less the teachers instructions for class. it wasn't hard though because i'm not the most "popular" kid ever that's for sure.
i still cant handle the memory of it that is why it took so long to write this i don't think i ever will get over this tragic event in my not so great life, but i have to bare with it and i haven't lost it yet.