by Liam Sachs
I was over at the neighbour’s house for dinner, playing with their baby. I had just sat down for five minutes when I was knocked over by a force so strong and furry, that I flung back a few feet. I soon realized that it was the neighbour’s dog, half Hong Kong, half Lab. I was completely dazed and half-tempted to yell out, “Somebody get the number of the truck that hit me.”
Of course, the shock and awe ended when I felt an excruciating slitting pain along the edge of my throat. My survival instincts took over and I elbowed the mass of mutt in the neck. In the brief moment that I heard a yelp, I tried to scramble to my feet. But it was no use. The dog locked its jaw onto my arm for what seemed like forever, until my father came and pull the dog off of me.
Everything was in a haze. I couldn’t see straight, I was overcome by pain, and the shock wasn’t helping much either. I was pulled to my feet and set down on the couch. I could hear the maid shrieking, “No! No blood on couch!”
I could care less about that. I looked at my father, who was putting pressure on my wounds, and he said, “Don’t panic.” Unfortunately, there were no ambulances: we were on an island. Therefore I had to make an hour-long taxi and ferry ride to the hospital, where they didn’t stitch it up for two weeks. And when they did, I was amazed by the fact that I could feel not a thing. I felt like an old piece of blanket, being sewn up. I noticed that the scar was in the pattern of an upside-down V, and I asked the surgeon if he would be willing to make another incision so it could look like the Harry Potter lightning strike.