My Worst Injury

12 Aug

It was the Summer Holidays and I must have been about 14. I was sat on the window sill of my brother’s bedroom, watching as he leapt off his bed onto an inflatable bed which was on the floor. As he landed on one end of the air bed, our cousin David, positioned strategically at the other end, would fly a good couple of feet into the air before landing in a heap on the floor. We got a lot of amusement out of this (although my mum was beginning to get slightly pissed off with all the noise we were making).

Things progressed and my brother went from a standing jump off of his bed, to a few-bounces-on-the-mattress-then-leap technique. We found that this made David go even higher. What we hadn’t accounted for though, was my brother’s bed breaking. As he prepared himself for the biggest jump yet, propelling himself higher and higher off his mattress, the bed suddenly gave way. My brother fell backwards towards me and I instinctively reached out to push him away. As I moved my arms outwards, I felt myself lean backwards slightly, and began circling my arms manically trying to regain my balance.

By this point, my back was at a 45 degree angle to my legs and I was shouting ‘SHIT,SHIT, SHIT’ as I knew what was about to happen. My last attempt at saving myself was to grab hold of one of the curtains. I stopped falling momentarily, and then felt myself go once more as the curtain pole gave way. Now, my face was covered by a curtain and I knew the landing was sure to hurt. I braced myself.

My brother slowed the speed at which I was falling by grabbing my foot, but he didn’t have the strength to save me – my slipper came off in his hand. I landed with an almighty crash onto the garage roof below the window and felt pain instantly. I removed the curtain from my head and surveyed my body. A few grazes to my hands and knees, nothing too bad. Then I felt a warm trickle on my ear. I felt the back of my head with my hand, and I had a deep gouge which was filled with grit and moss and was pissing blood. I looked at my hand; it was completely covered in head blood. It was at this point that the pain got worse.

My mum thundered up the stairs ready to tell us off about the noise, only to find me peering up through the open window, saying, “Get me a towel you fat knacker”, to my brother, who was stood dumfounded with slipper in hand. When I saw the look on her face, I knew that my head was in a bad way.
12 stitches later and we were bouncing off the mattress again, only this time, we had the window shut.

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