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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
13 comments:
Hello, brad... this is my scar story, i hope u like it~^^*
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"Go help your sister." My mom said to my sister as they were busy eating and watching TV.
"Clang~"
"Oh my god, what happened to your feet? It’s bleeding~"I heard this comment as I walked out of kitchen, the broken glasses all over her feet, and ankle. My mom and my sister were shocked because it was pretty disgusting thing to look at.
"It’s ok, mom. It’s nothing to worry about!"
"But they're bleeding to death!" my sister exclaimed.
"It’s ok, don’t worry about it" As I said this, I sat down to pull out the broken glasses out of my feet and ankle.
My sister and my mom sighed since they knew I was a tomboy.
"Oh, no. what happened in here? It’s the broken glass sea!" My mom cried as she saw what happened in the kitchen.
"I broke three cups~"I laughed.
"How on earth did you manage to get out?"
"I walked on the broken glasses." I said this casually to my worried mom.
"Are you a superwoman?" My sister questioned me surprisedly.
I just smiled.
Words: 181.
The Story of My Scars
I have two scars on my face. The one is above my right eyebrow, which is small but quite clear, and the other one is on my left cheek, which is indiscernible now. Two marks were left on my face at the same time, and I also lost my first incisor forever. They are the narrators of my horrifying experience which happened at a scorching night of the summer in 1976.
I have never forgotten that day of July 28th in 1976, ---it was the second day that I came back from my grandmother’s home, the south of China where I had lived for three years. I planned to have my summer vocation in my parents’ hometown in the north of China. At that time I was the grade three student of the Elementary school.
That night, although my father opened my room’s window and door, it was still hot and suffocating. I tossed and turned in bed until the midnight. Then I sat on the bed and look at the sky through the window. Suddenly, I found the sky’s color was the mixture of red and gray. When I was curious about the sky’s color, I found the bed was moving, as if I sat on the bed of the train the day before yesterday. And I heard the ground burst into peals of thunder from a distance, accompanied with the flashing of the red light. My bed was shaking fast, table was tossed about fast, and a vast jumped off the table and broke to pieces. All the things in the room, included me, followed the tempo of the building’s shaking, faster and faster. I lost my balance, and fell and grazed my face. My ears were horribly filled with big noises which mixed with everything shaking, moving, and people screaming.
“What happened? Ma and Pa,” I was crying and shouting. I saw my father coming through the heavy dust. He shouted to me, “Earthquake! Snow, hide under the bed.” He threw me under the bed. My parents hid in the bathroom.
When I felt the ground stop shaking, I found surrounding was so quiet and dark. The small space, like an airtight box, made me too stuffy. I feel a great pain in my mouth, teeth and forehead. I touched my incisors with my tongue, the one named first incisor disappeared. I realized that when I fell down, I had my tooth knocked out. Tears burst out of my eyes. Because I had just changed all the teeth that year, I knew I had no chance to have it again.
My bed was buried in the fragments of bricks because one of my room’s brick wall was knocked down. My parents made a gap and took me out of the airtight box. We escaped from the crumpling home, and came to an open square. My mother took out a small, sharp piece of glass from my forehead where the blood was flowing, and put a clean towel on it.
My wounds were cured by doctors after several hours. An artificial incisor was inserted after several months, and my cuts turn into scars. Up to now, they are still on my face and in my mouth, as if the horrible moment, have never disappeared in my memory.
A scar-- the memory of the robe
This Spring Festival was special in my childhood. My mother made a Chinese robe for me. It was a formal warm clothe with a beautiful satin face. I liked it very much. I liked the feeling that made me seem like an adult. I wore it “full time“, from morning to night, and everywhere, shopping, eating, and even playing.
At that time, I was a preschool boy only. Playing is my first important thing in the life, especially in this “free” happy festival. With my playmates, we fired the crackers, played the diabolo, fly a kite outside in the spring breeze, and play game hide-and -seek at the terrace up and down. How awfully busy it was.
The warm robe got me hot, sweat and very inconvenient while I was chasing my playmates up and down. So I threw out hat and pull off the robe. Unfortunately, I stepped on the front part of the robe, while I was running and pulling it off. I stumbled and fell heading first down the stairs of the terrace. My mouth knocked on the edge of the stone. The blood dropped from my lower lip immediately and stained my robe.
The event left a scar on my lower lip, a mark of this age. Since it recovered, the score wasn’t noticed by anyone, but it reminded me of my golden childhood many times—it’s a sweet yearning for the past.
Words: 237
I must admit I was scared starting work that day. At 19 years old, I started working in a machine shop for the telephone company.
The foreman had shown me the machine: a large belt sander, industrial green. It made a terrifying noise when he hit the switch. The word in the shop was about a foreman, not a week before, who had lost fingers in a huge punch press.
My job would be to take the burr off metal rods at both ends. Even after 30 years, I can still mime the end over end action. Spin the rod at one end, flip it, and do the same. Then throw the finished piece into a large wooden box and do another.
The morning passed, the men took coffee and joshed with me, the new hire. Then sometime before lunch I lost concentration. It was only for a moment, but in that moment the rod pulled my knuckle into the sanding belt and took off the skin.
Blood welled up from the ends of the small blood vessels in my index finger. I would have continued but my foreman, noting the blood on my hand, sent me off to the first aid room.
I learned to respect the machines after that day, but have at least two other scars from my year working at the telephone company.
Scar on My Foreleg
In 1991, I was in my third year studying drama in the Tehran University. I used rarely the northwest gate of the university because of the Islamic republican environment there. Mostly Bassidji (religious fanatic militia) students passed through that gate. Also, the guard always asked for student’s id.
I was late. The public transportation was awful those days in Tehran but not as worst as now. I rushed to that sinister gate then and walked half way to reach the intersection. I waited there to find a safe zone to pass. In Iran, always those riding are prior to pedestrians because they show some kind of wealth and power!
Standing for passing a motorcycle belonged to a Bassidji student, I thought he saw that where I stand and will pass me farther to not make an accident. But he passed me by inches, staring with slyness at me. The sudden pain and heat of the contact with hot motor made me jumped back. He stopped his motorcycle and looked at me with a smile out of spite.
As a matter of fact, Bassidjis like to torture girls. They have supports from the Islamic Republican government for their deeds. I stared at him with flames of wrath in my eyes, but I, an independent student, had no right to protest or accused his sadistic act. I was in hope maybe he will understand his shameful deed and ask for pardon. Instead, with a cunning smile he pushed on the gas and went. It was revenge because I didn’t wear my hejab (scarf) properly.
Staying with a dreadful pain, even I didn't have right to look at my injury. It is forbidden for women to expose a part of their body in public according to Islamic views. Walking lame legged I arrived to the classroom and lifted my pants. The blood flew from the mashed scar. Burning and crushing on the bone made the scar went inside of my right foreleg. The pain trapped breathing in my throat; I tried hard to not cry.
The footprints of that scar, still, are on my right foreleg, yet the scar of the degradation as a woman by a fanatic religious man bothers me more than the deformed foreleg.
The Story of my Scald
I cut the plastic into pieces and sat by the candle with my four roommates, one of whom was my fifteen year-old auntie. As they were talking, I took one piece of the plastic and pointed it toward the candle light. As I dragged myself a little closer to the candle light, she noticed and warned me, “What you’re trying to do is very dangerous and I would advise you stop before you or any of us get hurt.”
That is what I hated. When she warned or told me to stop doing something, it meant continued to me. I loved making her angry by being stubborn about something, so I started my game then.
I put the plastic in the candle wax for a minute and then lit it. Unfortunately, It turned out I was the loser of my game. I pulled the plastic away from the candle flame and passed it over my right hand to off it in the candle stand, but the hot melted plastic and the candle wax dripped on the back of my right hand.
“Oh my God! You see what I was telling you,” she said as she swiftly move on my side and try to clean it off my skin.
I pulled my hand away from her, a bit disappointed because she wasn’t as mad as I had hope. After a few minutes, I pulled the solid melted plastic off my skin and it took my flesh off. It took weeks or a month to cure.
She did fly off the handle, but I suffered the pain. The scald is now my adviser because when somebody warns me about danger, I try to be stubborn, but when I look at the scald, the painful night and months set tears in my eyes and I would let the warner be the winner of my game.
sorry that i don't have an interesting scar myself.
Ear and Luck
My maternal grandfather joined the red army in 1937 when he was thirteen when Japanese invaded. For my grandfather, the red army was his home and his leaders were his parents.
The time was harsh, when he recalled the old days, “each of us would be given only three bullets, and the last one would be reserved for ourselves only, just in case.”
Once his troop was encircled by Japanese, the first time the detective came to report to the captain—my grandfather’s brother-like idol, it happened that he was extremely busy. His wife visited him for which was the most expensive chance to enjoy their couple’s stuff.
After he enjoyed his duty as a husband, it’s too late already. The gunfire lit up the sky and they were totally surrounded. The five-hundred-people-troop had only fifteen persons left, including my grandfather and his injured captain. He carried the captain on his back and protected him with his life.
After they reached the safe spot, they found my grandfather was dyed by blood into a red one --a small piece of his ear was gone.
The captain my grandfather saved became the chief Marshal of Chinese air force after liberation. My grandfather however after being trained in high commanders’ school in Moscow, a place called the cradle of generals for four years; later on he became a Major General of the artillery in his early fifties, and never get any promotion after that when most of his schoolmates all got higher position in central government. The part where his ear was shot off left a scarlet scar. Whenever he drinks or gets angry, the scar would redden.
I remembered that one day a Feng Shui mater was invited to our home. He’d never known my grandfather before. He looked at his face and summarised his life, almost hundred percent accurately. We were all surprised, especially my grandfather who is a completely communist and never believes in anything superstitious.
The mater said that people’s ear was related to one’s fortune; if my grandfather’s ear is full, he would have a far much better career than really had.
or maybe I shall write about the scars left from comedones and mosquito's bites which I have plenty and the only scars available on me.
When I was a child, I was so- called tomboy. Compared to other girls playing with their dolls, I used to play outdoors with my brother and his friends. Not far from my house, there was a brick wall which was about eight feet high. My mom told me the other side of the wall was an abandoned factory, but what my brother and his friends did seemed to tell another story. They always climbed over the wall and spent the whole afternoon there. When they came back, there were many butterflies, dragonflies in their nets. Sometimes, they also carried some tomatoes and berries to me. To those boys, the deserted factory had become a playground. “I want to go with you” I said when the boys prepared to climb the wall one day. “No” one boy said. “You can’t climb” another boy added. “Yes, I can” I insisted. After saying, I began to climb. The boys kept silent and stared at me climbing. When I almost climbed the top of the wall, I fell down. My hands, which had a lot of sweat caused by nervous tension, were too slippery to hold the wall. There were some bushes under the wall and I fell right into them. “She fell, she fell.” The boys cried out and scattered. I stayed still in the bushes and felt some hot liquor streamed in my face. My mom came, and took me to the hospital. Since then, there has been a scar on my face.
The sentence changed into this:I felt the warm liquid streamed on my face.
I love silk worms. They went with me everywhere; I took them into my stationery box and carried them to the school. I took them out and put them on the bed for a walk. I love the soft texture of its body and the feeling of its little feet crawling on my finger. Its snow white body became translucent under the light. At the end of their lives, they made a little soft and smooth sleeping bag and slept into it. After the silkworm broke the cocoon, it became a butterfly. I took the broken cocoon and decided to make silk. I made a pot of boiling water and soaked the cocoon into it. A few minutes later, I used chopstick to pick the cocoon from the water. The hot cocoon surprisingly dropped on my tummy. “Ouch!” the burning mark of that cocoon has been left on my tummy ever since.
How I received my scar
"You have skin cancer." The doctor spoke abruptly as her pulled the remaining stitches from my leg. I looked back up to him, meeting his gaze and completely forgetting the slight pinch of pain that came when he tugged on the stitches.
"Cancer?" I spoke, completely bewildered.
"Its called Dermatofibrosarcoma, yes, quite a mouthful isn't it?"
I looked back at him, more confused then I had ever been in months. How could it it be Cancer? Two weeks ago when I had come in to get the strange purple area on my leg looked at I was told it was a cyst.
"Chris, don't be too overwhelmed. We have the knowledge and technology to get rid of this problem fairly quickly. We will schedule a surgery date in the next two months or so, and everything will go back to normal... Chris? Are you okay?"
I stared blankly across the room completely filtering out what the doctor was trying to tell me. Remembering back to simple procedure to remove the 'cyst' that almost made me faint. God only knows what this new procedure would involve?
"There's nothing to worry about son! You will be given some local anesthetic and you will barely feel a thing."
Sixty one days went by. I never remembered months to have the ability to fly by so quickly, but it happened. This time I was laying in a darker room then when I was first told I had skin cancer. A few people came into the room, clearly assistants, and after them a much taller man.
"Chris right?"
I nodded.
"Its a pleasure to meet you. My names Dr.Matthews and I'll be performing this procedure. I assure you there is nothing to be afraid of. This procedure has been started and completed under my supervision more then five-hundred times. Your completely safe."
I nodded again.
"Ahhh. Well I can see you just want this over and done with. So how about we begin?"
The Doctor placed a small pill in my hand.
"Take this, and put it under your tongue. Everything will be over soon, I assure you."
Everything went dizzy. I slightly remember a few questions being asked of me, and answering them without pause. But nothing more then that. Slowly I regained control of all my motor functions, and opened my eyes that were tightly shut. I was completely alone in the room.
"All done."
The voice startled me a bit, but I turned around to see that it was the doctor smiling at me. I looked down at my leg to see the middle half of it wrapped tightly in some stretchy material. There was not much pain, but I knew that would change once some of the freezing wore off. But I was glad it was over. I looked back up at the doctor and smiled.
"Your a trooper, I'll give you that." He chuckled to himself as the door closed behind him.
We were playing with a plastic ball in our living room. My younger brother didn’t get the ball, so he got upset. Suddenly, my brother started throwing dishes. We all tried to stop him. A small stainless steel bowl’s edge cut my right eyebrow. I was crying badly. My brother was scared because he knew he would be in trouble
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