True story

Considering my house is a mere two minutes walk from my school with only two roads to cross, I never really gave two thoughts to the possible dangers lurking on the journey. That is, until now.

As I ambled along, optimistic at what the day had to offer, I reached the crossing road of my walk. Anxiously I pressed the button at the traffic lights, keeping my eye on the intimidating gang of boys also on their way to school. Before I had time to shift away from them the crossing man flashed a vibrant green that meant it was time to stride across the road and escape from the raucous boys. My foot touched the road and I began my second step, hurrying to my destination.

However, this was clearly not going to be a smooth journey as I felt a mysterious object ploughing forcefully into my left thigh at a ridiculously high speed. Before I could even think or let out a squeak of pain I was splattered on the floor, my limbs a flailing mess and my right school shoe strewn into the middle of the road. That was when I felt the cruel taunts of hilarity from those formerly imposing boys. Now I wasn't frightened, just humiliated.

At that point I gaged that I had to drag myself up and somehow transport my aching body to school as I was already close to being late. Heaving my head up in shame, I caught a glimpse of the culprit of this heinous crime. The boy responsible for the accident wore a silver-black jacket, contrasting with his tanned skin and gently waving hair. He hoisted the hazardous bike up and his face shrouded with what I would have loved to be guilt. My teeth ground in frustration as I realised that this emotion was instead rage. I gave him the type of glance a disappointed teacher might give to a misbehaving student in an effort to prompt him to apologise. But rather than this he simply uttered a profanity and stormed off wheeling the bike away with him.

The pain in my left thigh now returned but on a level that could only be described as agonising. The only option was to gather my belongings including my runaway shoe and hobble along to school, desperately trying to conceal my anger.

I spent the next lessons fretting that a nerve had been damaged or that my leg had been torn open barbarically, but thankfully the only presents I received from that unfortunate accident were a few scratches and a mammoth technicolour bruise varying in shade from the initial navy to the more developed regal purple and terminating with a lovely chartreuse. Fortunately, I could still walk perfectly a few days later so it all turned out well in the end.