As dad and I traveled to the hospital, my mind flashed back to what had happened in the previous half an hour. The tea set, the step, all these things on the worst day possible. Good Friday.
I was just a little kid of 4 or 5, playing with a Dora-the-explorer tea set outside. Just as I had finished pouring some tea for my imaginary friends, I realized that there was none for me. So I started running to the step. But as I leaped lowly into the air, I tripped over the step and head-first landed on the step above. I started screaming out 'help!!!'. My head was aching and I felt like a knife had gone through it. Suddenly mum rushed outside, saw me, and yelled out to dad: "Go get a cloth! And make it quick!" I reached my hand up to my head. It was soaking. I suspected it was sweat, but when I lowered my hand down again, my face turned pale. There, in front of me, was a blood-red hand. Covered from top to bottom in blood. Luckily dad had just arrived with the cloth. I was saved! And then, there I was, in hospital, with a relieved look coating my face. I’d finally calmed down. After that, I always nicknamed the tea set: the cursed Dora tea set.
(For a while anyway)