Blood Baseball

My son has been telling me for a while now that he wants to be a writer.  Poor kid.  So I am letting him guest-post to get his literary career up and running.  He’s ten years old.  

Blood Baseball

Blood was all over my face. I felt pain, searing pain. I would bet my life that I would be Mr. Scar-face for a month. The pain was so bad I might not have a life so I would have nothing to lose if I lost that bet. I rolled on the ground for about 30 seconds. It felt like 24 hours. I hung on, and now I can fill you in with the beginning.

My dad was jabbering away, as usual. Then he said something about going to the park. That caught my ear so I said, “Let’s go to the park and practice fly balls.” My dad was all over the idea of getting out of the house. He doesn’t like to watch TV. It was Saturday. It was 2 pm. We crossed the five-way that leads to a sidewalk that ends up at the baseball parks. We finally arrived at the Pinto field. I didn’t know what I was in for.

I grabbed my glove and ran out to the best patch of green grass. My dad threw me one ball sky high. I caught it above my head easily. We did this for 30 minutes before the ‘bad thing” happened. I didn’t know it but soon I would not be very interactive for a month. I seriously wouldn’t have any emotions for a long time. That’s why my baseball teammates call me “the zombie.”

The dreaded baseball was locked in my dad’s hand. He wound up and let it go. It was hard to see the white globe with the clouds behind the baseball. I could see the spin though, but it was very faint. The baseball had a very unique spin. It had ­­backspin so it would carry and travel farther. It was drifting in the air. I was heading toward the fence.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The ball was descending fast but it felt like months. I was following its trajectory. It was still carrying with the heavy wind. My hat flew off. I leaped. I touched the ground again. Bad timing. I leaped again. I was two feet in the air when I felt the ball hit the tip of my glove. My glove swayed. I was four feet away from the fence. I felt thin solid metal collide with the left portion of my face. I felt pain. Pain I had never experienced. I couldn’t describe it, but I guess I’ll have to. My veins were bursting. My eye stung. My nose felt like it cracked. I couldn’t move my legs.

We walked here so I basically was stuck here. My dad tried to call my mom to come in the car and pick me up. She arrived; my dad helped me onto my feet. He lifted me into the back seat. We got home. I refused to have bandages. The bleeding had stopped. My mom cleaned up my wounds. It felt like a very long day. I had to be careful when I ate because one of my scabs might burst and I would start bleeding again. The next morning it happened.

I felt a pop on my face. My scabs had burst. I yelled. My mom raced into the medical bin. She pulled out a mega bandage. She placed it on, but if you gave me a choice, I wouldn’t go through that experience again.

Do you have a comment? Of course you do, and it’s this one: “Adorable!!!!!” 
Oh by the way, this is the horrible wound in question.