15 minute paper

The sky was rather calm that day. The few clouds that floated above me seemed as if they had been stretched beyond their limits, reaching from one end of the horizon to the other. I slowly sat up, the woodchips from the playground digging into the palms of my hands. I looked around. Nothing was different. All of my friends were still running around and screaming and laughing like any normal second grader would. I ran my hand through my hair and felt the top of my head. Something was definitely wrong. I frantically pulled my hand down and stared at my blood soaked palm. This wasn’t happening. I had to be dreaming. I rubbed my hands together, thinking that the blood would simply disappear, yet it still remained, staining now both of my hands. My pulse began to race, getting increasingly faster by the second. In my confusion I began sobbing hysterically, know that this would surely be the end of my life.
Five minutes later the paramedics wheeled me out of the school on the stretcher. I could see all the students lined up on the edge of the parking lot, gaping at the stupid kid who cracked his head open. Embarrassed, I looked up at the sky, unable to see the clouds through the glare of the sun.