I can only think of three times in my entire life was truly terrified. The first time I was about six, I vividly remember, going to sit on the swings. A group of older kids came and surrounded me. I had no idea why they were so mean so I started crying and gasping for air when one kicked me. It had scared the mess out of me, but luckily someone saw and stopped it, whenever I think of that I get this cold shiver that runs down my spine.
The second I can clearly recall, I was twelve and waiting for my uncle to come and sign the paper so I could go home with him. He was ten minutes late, and I started to get worried when one of the mean ladies, Ms. Rhonda, came in and told me that he had been in a car accident. He flew twenty feet from the windshield, but the crash had killed him on impact. This was the first time I had realized that I had no family left, they were all gone. My main concern was about how whenever I told people I had no family, or explained to them that my family was dead, this one fact that used to always stay lodged in the back of my head: I have a Mom and Dad, that are probably alive, if they loved me they would have come back and got me after they got out of jail.
The third event that had terrified me happened the night James and I left the Petro. It is the hardest to describe because I cannot remember it. I dream about it every now and then. I hear brakes squealing, glass shattering, metal scratching, and sirens of all types, the ambulance they carried me away in, the four police cars, the fire trucks. I feel the cold November air, concrete underneath my hands, warm liquid spilling out of head, yet I see nothing but blackness.
The day after it happened I got to read the police report. It talked about all the things they had calculated and processed. The report read: James Windthrow, a Ventura Police Officer was driving across a four way stop. Out of nowhere a blue Chevy came barreling down the street at sixty miles an hour in a thirty five mile an hour speed zone, and was later pronounced under the influence of alcohol. The Chevy owner has recently been discharged from the hospital with seven stitches. Windthrow did not have any severe injuries. Sadly the passenger of the black Toyota, belonging to James Windthrow, had to get staples, stitches, and a cast, but Maddie, the passenger, is expected to be able to make a full recovery.
What kind of jacked up report was that I might be in a hospital bed for the next two days but I am not be any means in that much pain.
"Here, drink up," James said handing me a paper cup full of water. Once he profusley apologized he had been determined to make sure I do everything the doctors a want me too and one doctor told him I had to stay hydrated. . I think he was over hydrating me. Like when a flower gets dry and shrivels up you put water on it and most people put too much causing it to be over watered and eventually it dies.

"Okay, okay that is my tenth cup," I said handing the half dranken water back too him, "why don't you get me something else, Jello, Dr. Pepper, or better yet something to read a Seventeen magizine."

He shook his head and went to go get what I had asked for. Cool, he's like my slave maybe I should get in car wrecks with him more often. Or I probably shouldn't my shoulder hurts and I have to spend another week in here.

I hate hospitals when I was young my friends Jamie fro foster care was palying on the swing set and fell and broke her arm. I didn't get to see her until it healed almost two months later she stayed in what the lady called a 'hospital'. I was miserably because she was the one that always gave me her pillow and I could hug it like a stuffed animal. We just had to wake up before Ms. Sanders to make sure that it was in her bed when she came to our room to ring the bell. Since Jamie woke up first I was scared that I wouldn't wake up in time so I had too go without the pillow.


Yeah I know strange stopping place but you see I am writing this story as I go along and this was where I ended.