The Day I Heard Dogs Walk

I am looking at my building in Poland and I am about five or six. I just came back from mushroom picking and there is a commotion in the neighbourhood, someone was hurt. Lots of grown up people talking in hushed voices avoiding all the children. I walk from the sandbox (bordered with tree stumps) towards one of the building entrances and notices a large wet spot on the pavement. I didn't recognize what it was, but it intrigued me nevertheless, and continued through the door. I saw little drops of blood on the stairs, so I followed them up, looking up at the looping stairwell with all my heart I hoped it wasn't coming from my house. I walked up to my door, and followed the drops of blood up to the next floor. I went upstairs and then I remember talking to my mom about our neighbour from upstairs hitting her head really badly and that she was taken to the hospital, I knew my dad worked there so I thought it would be okay. I remember going back downstairs and touching the blood on the pavement outside and feeling something that I had never felt before. It was the feeling of vulnerability, there were certain things that we could not be protected from, no matter how hard our parents tried. Then for the first time, feeling the blood between my index finger and thumb of my right hand, I heard the sound of a dog. I turned around and there it was, making a noise I had never heard before. The first time I heard their paws hitting the pavement changed my outlook on life, and I knew I could never go back to not hearing it.

Water, The Book Killer!

I am in my bathroom, I think brushing my teeth or something like that, and I see myself in the mirror sporting my old long hair, it's almost down to my chin (and it looks bomb). I am then shaving and look at the bathtub filled with water. A book is on the little bathtub ledge and just as I turned to look at the scene, the book started shifting in the direction of the water. As it was my text book for Asian History, I didn't want the book to be ruined. Despite all my effort at moving across the bathroom and desperately grasping for it, I failed to reach it on time. I saw it drop like a stone to the bottom. I picked it up after not even a second but it was too late, the book was soaked. I put it on the counter and used a towel to dry the cover at least, trying to do some good in a horrible situation. As I was wiping the cover, the paper completely gave way and ripped as soon as I applied the smallest amount of pressure. I lost the cover, and the ink of the book, page by page begain melting into one black blotch and mud began oozing out of the book onto the cold tiled floor. The mud felt grainy under my feet. The book was ruined, and I couldn't study for class. I didn't know that the loss of one book would have such a great effect on me, but I at once became greatly depressed and couldn't finish my dinner. I didn't want to go to the store and tell them I ruined the book.