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I'm in ur LJ, spamming ur flist
Dec. 2nd, 2008 02:29 pmMy feet have this jolting sting every time I take a step. It’s not a very noticeable stinging unless you have to put a lot of work into moving with your feet. The Riflery instructor told me to get checked up in the infirmary, which was nearby. By nearby, he meant by electric cart, which he drove since he had a health condition (he looked at least three hundred pounds and going on fifty). Since he was legally only allowed to carry himself on it, I walked on those feet for two miles along a rock-covered trail, where I can feel the minor stinging start to snowball inside until I was chewing my bottom lip from the punching sensation that coiled into every swing of my right ankle right before the wave of spikes that hits every time I put pressure into my left heel.
As I walk up past the trail to the cabin that looked like an infirmary (it had a red cross on it), I take a step back, bracing myself from the pressure I am giving my wobbly legs as I stand and stare at the cabin through a window. I want to make sure the Riflery guy didn’t mislead me somewhere else. There’s a white curtain over the windows here, but I can make out enough of an outline to see someone there with a little kid. I walk, okay, maybe I should say hobble, over to the cabin, and knock.
“Take a seat,” I hear from inside with a musical voice.
There’s a few wooden benches nearby, so I take a seat and soon feel a spike of pain reach at my butt. I stand up again, feeling pain grind at my ankles, and check my butt. No tacks, nothing on the bench… My butt was just in that much pain. Okay, I take my seat again, realize my face is contorting strangely from the pain, and breathe again until the pain tries to hold itself away.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I can hear something going on there, faintly. Very faintly. Since I need something to do to keep the pain out of my mind, I listen around me, I look around. There are no birds in the air, the animals are not around, and I am so far from other people that I can only faintly hear the gleeful screams of some child or another. My ears adjust and it makes it that much easier to hear what’s going on inside.
“Did you take eight glasses of water?” The voice of the older person inside asked that.
“Yes.” This was the sound of a child.
“Good, you’re all right then. But stop picking at it. Apply this every few hours.”
There’s a pause.
“Is this made from camels?”
“Calamine. Don’t eat with those hands either after applying it.”
Another pause.
“I can’t eat all day?”
“No!” The voice wasn’t angry, but alarmed. “Just remember to apply it.”
“Okay, thank you!”
In a few minutes, I hear some movement as the door opens up and out steps a man who looks five years older than me with a full-grown goatee.
“Doctor?” I stand up out of politeness and feel the pain zing across my spine when I do it too quickly.
“He’s inside,” the fully-bearded 30-year-old-looking man says to me in his actual 13 year old voice right before he steps away cradling a tube of what must be calamine lotion and his other hand scratching his back.
“Come in!” I hear from inside. I step inside and suddenly, I am staring at the top of a tree. My head hurts as it rests against the side of a tree trunk, but the rest of my body isn’t registering pain. Actually, it can’t feel anything. It takes awhile for me to get my bearings, but as I feel my body suddenly screaming for air and my arms slowly undoing their numbness, I think I can gather what happened.
When I stepped inside, I think I remembered feeling the full cannon force of someone’s skull colliding into my gut as I am punched back from a running boy’s noggin. The power of this monumental collision was so amazing that not only does all the air squeeze out of my lungs in one unexpected gasp, but my feet are derailed from the ground and I fly for a brief second before my sore body, now numbed from this overload of pain, shoots against the tree trunk where my muscle was pushed against the trunk to see if it could go through the tree. It did not, and, since gravity finally found its pull again, I faced the cold rooted ground with my head angled against the tree.
“Are you okay?”
“C’mon, we’ll be late for Swimming!”
The faces of kids, unviewable since my eyes still couldn’t remember to look around, are running out of the fringes of my eyesight and soon, my hearing. They were running, although it was more out of fear of being late than from the wrath of what they did. A branch falls on my face and I can feel it tingle me right before my hand pushes it aside. My hand? I look at it and flex it. I can barely feel a thing, but it’s slowly coming back. I look down. I can look down? Wait, my leg’s moving again. I’m okay! I am not paralyzed! You would not believe how happy this makes me, although I am sure you probably could if you have read this far.
“I said, come in!” That was from inside the cabin. I pick myself up, dust off the dirt and whatever else is there, and I walk up, and on the first step I immediately realize that my leg barely works, although I can still feel that numbing pain. I walk, and I can’t help but seethe through the pain by making a hissing noise as I try not to limp my way inside.
The nurse inside looks at me and I can see from his face that he’s not impressed.
“Take a seat.” He’s gesturing to one of the hard plastic chairs lining the walls. “Is your buddy outside?”
I stop myself from saying I didn’t bring one and correct myself “I’m staff. I teach archery and got into a bit of a scuttle.” If I didn’t tell them I was staff, I could imagine the earful I would have heard.
“Gotcha,” The nurse then seems to relax and he laughs about it. I mean, he really laughs. His snickers turn into this madman-like laughter that echoes through the cabin.
“Is there something wrong?”
The nurse, who is still snickering, then wipes one of his eyes, “Nah, nah, I just remembered got a punchline from a joke I just remembered.”
I blink, because I am utterly confused as to what is going on here.
As I walk up past the trail to the cabin that looked like an infirmary (it had a red cross on it), I take a step back, bracing myself from the pressure I am giving my wobbly legs as I stand and stare at the cabin through a window. I want to make sure the Riflery guy didn’t mislead me somewhere else. There’s a white curtain over the windows here, but I can make out enough of an outline to see someone there with a little kid. I walk, okay, maybe I should say hobble, over to the cabin, and knock.
“Take a seat,” I hear from inside with a musical voice.
There’s a few wooden benches nearby, so I take a seat and soon feel a spike of pain reach at my butt. I stand up again, feeling pain grind at my ankles, and check my butt. No tacks, nothing on the bench… My butt was just in that much pain. Okay, I take my seat again, realize my face is contorting strangely from the pain, and breathe again until the pain tries to hold itself away.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I can hear something going on there, faintly. Very faintly. Since I need something to do to keep the pain out of my mind, I listen around me, I look around. There are no birds in the air, the animals are not around, and I am so far from other people that I can only faintly hear the gleeful screams of some child or another. My ears adjust and it makes it that much easier to hear what’s going on inside.
“Did you take eight glasses of water?” The voice of the older person inside asked that.
“Yes.” This was the sound of a child.
“Good, you’re all right then. But stop picking at it. Apply this every few hours.”
There’s a pause.
“Is this made from camels?”
“Calamine. Don’t eat with those hands either after applying it.”
Another pause.
“I can’t eat all day?”
“No!” The voice wasn’t angry, but alarmed. “Just remember to apply it.”
“Okay, thank you!”
In a few minutes, I hear some movement as the door opens up and out steps a man who looks five years older than me with a full-grown goatee.
“Doctor?” I stand up out of politeness and feel the pain zing across my spine when I do it too quickly.
“He’s inside,” the fully-bearded 30-year-old-looking man says to me in his actual 13 year old voice right before he steps away cradling a tube of what must be calamine lotion and his other hand scratching his back.
“Come in!” I hear from inside. I step inside and suddenly, I am staring at the top of a tree. My head hurts as it rests against the side of a tree trunk, but the rest of my body isn’t registering pain. Actually, it can’t feel anything. It takes awhile for me to get my bearings, but as I feel my body suddenly screaming for air and my arms slowly undoing their numbness, I think I can gather what happened.
When I stepped inside, I think I remembered feeling the full cannon force of someone’s skull colliding into my gut as I am punched back from a running boy’s noggin. The power of this monumental collision was so amazing that not only does all the air squeeze out of my lungs in one unexpected gasp, but my feet are derailed from the ground and I fly for a brief second before my sore body, now numbed from this overload of pain, shoots against the tree trunk where my muscle was pushed against the trunk to see if it could go through the tree. It did not, and, since gravity finally found its pull again, I faced the cold rooted ground with my head angled against the tree.
“Are you okay?”
“C’mon, we’ll be late for Swimming!”
The faces of kids, unviewable since my eyes still couldn’t remember to look around, are running out of the fringes of my eyesight and soon, my hearing. They were running, although it was more out of fear of being late than from the wrath of what they did. A branch falls on my face and I can feel it tingle me right before my hand pushes it aside. My hand? I look at it and flex it. I can barely feel a thing, but it’s slowly coming back. I look down. I can look down? Wait, my leg’s moving again. I’m okay! I am not paralyzed! You would not believe how happy this makes me, although I am sure you probably could if you have read this far.
“I said, come in!” That was from inside the cabin. I pick myself up, dust off the dirt and whatever else is there, and I walk up, and on the first step I immediately realize that my leg barely works, although I can still feel that numbing pain. I walk, and I can’t help but seethe through the pain by making a hissing noise as I try not to limp my way inside.
The nurse inside looks at me and I can see from his face that he’s not impressed.
“Take a seat.” He’s gesturing to one of the hard plastic chairs lining the walls. “Is your buddy outside?”
I stop myself from saying I didn’t bring one and correct myself “I’m staff. I teach archery and got into a bit of a scuttle.” If I didn’t tell them I was staff, I could imagine the earful I would have heard.
“Gotcha,” The nurse then seems to relax and he laughs about it. I mean, he really laughs. His snickers turn into this madman-like laughter that echoes through the cabin.
“Is there something wrong?”
The nurse, who is still snickering, then wipes one of his eyes, “Nah, nah, I just remembered got a punchline from a joke I just remembered.”
I blink, because I am utterly confused as to what is going on here.
