5-year-old-me stormed out of the “red door” of my kindergarten classroom and cannon-balled right into the tan bark of our playground as if it were a pit of balls from Kids Castle. Ouch! A splinter! I plucked that baby out and went on jumping around like a monkey escaping from its exhibit in the zoo.
I climbed the rubber steps of my make believe princess tower and reached for the rusting, blue, monkey bars. While on the the tips of my toes, I stretch my hand far out to the first bar as if I were Magneto, hoping to bring the bar closer to me. With a hop and a grunt, I grip the bar with both hands. I did it! I stare down at the row of bars above me that looked to be a mile away. I can do theeis! With one eye shut, I peek below me. HOT LAVA! I begin swinging myself to catch momentum in order for me to hurry over to the next bar, reach the end of the Monkey Bar Bridge, and ultimately save myself from the blistering magma brewing below! To go faster, I wanted to try what the first graders mastered – ‘skipping’ a bar. I was 3 bars away from reaching the end of the bridge. I was determined! I do my best monkey imitation and swing my legs while throwing my right hand out to the last bar. I felt like a first grader! The top of my head was 2 inches from touching the skipped bar. I start slipping. There goes my left hand. I stare up at my right hand and start slowly twisting counterclockwise like the ballerina in my music box. I don’t want to melt! I continue to twist. No!
I hear a cracking noise. I feel a snap and a burn.
My wrist was broken.
…and it wasn’t from the hot lava.
Writing 101 prompt, Day One: Open the first photo album you can find – real or virtual, your call – and stop at the first picture of yourself you see there. Tell us a story of that photo.