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Short Story - The Smell of Spaghetti

            I was in my kitchen, age nine, year 1994. I had dark chocolate hair halfway down my back with ruler straight bangs to my eyebrows. I remember that if my pants fit me around the waist they were too short in the legs and if they were long enough in the legs I could have fit two of me in them. I cannot recall the time of year but it must have been autumn because it was the beginning of my second grade year and it was not yet snowing. As you walk into the kitchen, the washer and dryer were on the right side of you. Next to them there was a space for access to the basement door, but next to that space the cabinets and countertop began. I loved to stand between the counter and the dryer, push myself up with my hands, lift my feet, and swing. .
             One this day my five year old cousin Chrissy, who looked just like me but in mini size, stood behind me and while in mid swing, she shoved me. I can still remember her little hands slamming into the middle of my back and her demonic little giggle while doing it. The first thing that happened was my wrist twisted causing a stabbing pain to run up my arm and to my heart. As I instinctually pulled my arm toward myself, I flew forward and into the air. I was screaming something along the lines of "oh no" and watching the blue and grey tiles grow larger until they were all I could see. In trying to protect my already painful wrist I plum forgot to protect my head. When I slammed into the floor like a 75 pounds sack of flour being flung from a shoulder, a few things happened. My knees and chin where the first things to hit the floor, from there I could not tell you the order because I was in agony. When my chin and the floor became acquainted my teeth did the obvious thing, they slammed together. .
             No big deal right? Wrong!! Not only did one of my front teeth chip, but my tongue missed the "move out of the way" memo my brain sent and got itself bit off.

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