Recollection (CNF-Nostalgia)

Everyone has memories, whether they are good, bad, or pointless. When it comes to me, only bad memories seem to surface. Every one of the fond memories just seems to drip away, making more and more room for new good times. Instead, I warn myself about repeating the past; crushing my leg under a fallen bookshelf, soaking my blood-stained broken bone in the tub as I waited for the emergency room trip to commence. I remind myself to step away from the creaking trunk of the tree my friends pushed around as I watched wide-eyed, seeing it fall towards me like a tripped giant. I tell myself to call the police when my neighbors get robbed, not to run away like a coward. Those are only a few examples of the things I remember; the iron smell of blood in water as tears stung my eyes, trying to escape while my throat was still closed in pain. I think back to the ear-shattering crack of wood as leaves spilled onto the ground around me, signaling the blackness of unconsciousness. I regret the cowardly decision of running as I heard frantic gunshots and furious yelling next door, my trembling legs barely keeping me standing as a solitary car honked past me. But along with those memories come some of my best. The feeling of pride when I held back my tears in the hospital, ringing pain in my ears from the bone that stood out of my skin like a bleeding baton. The thought that my friends dragged me out from under the tree and waited in terror for me to wake up, not even thinking to get an adult. And most of all, the night air brushing softly against my skin as I hid and prayed desperately for our neighbor’s safety, soon hearing the triumphant shouts of an old man and his shotgun, tires shrieking against the road as more cowards fled. With every bad memory comes a good one, for me at least. And that’s why I cherish even the worst.