Death by an InchA Story by Ian Duncan Arbogast
T'was a night like any other. The radiance of the lights ever-glowing, the rooms distilled with a deep emptiness. I was in a good mood so I decided I would try my hand at some science homework, however, I did not have a writing utensil.
As an attempt to solve the problem, I headed up the stairs, for I remembered such an instrument placed on a shelf in my closet. When I arrived at the supposed utensil's origin, I aimed my outstretched arm toward it. I couldn't reach it. I took foothold on an object and continued to strain for it when, suddenly *CRASH*, the object that my foot was upon was none other than a glass table. My eyes grew foggy as I was ridden with shock. I felt no pain at that time, and the blood was...rather enticing. The loud noise had awoken my mother from her television festivities and directly t'where I stood. "Fix it, fix it!" I cried, in fear of her reply. "It's no use. There's no doubt in my mind that you're going to need stitches." said my mother. "B-but I've never had stitches!" It was then that my tears began to flow. As my crying was nearing it's cease I was taken, through the snow to my grandmother's van, which departed me to the emergency room for seven stitches, and my first stitches at that. Although all this occured in the course of a single night, it will go down in history as the day of my first stitches AND my legitimate reason to hate homework. Thank you for reading. © 2010 Ian Duncan ArbogastAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews Added on April 11, 2010 Last Updated on April 11, 2010 AuthorIan Duncan ArbogastNorth Ridgeville, OHAboutCheers, everyone~! My name Is Ian Arbogast. I don't write much anymore, but I implore you to browse my adolescent writings and hopefully some new ones in the future! Have a nice day~! more..Writing
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