Alfred A. Montapert: A Short Story

Alfred A. Montapert once said, ”Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.” What he said completely relates to me, as I learned a very important, and gruesome, lesson. The incident caused me to change my perspective, which was huge in my childhood. I’ll never forget the time that I received stitches, because it made me realize that my parents know what’s best for me. It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. My sister and I had just gotten off of the school bus, plum tuckered out after a long day of Elementary school. The September heat radiated throughout the house, making us feel even more overwhelmed. In the living room sat my mom, having just gotten home herself. I was starving. Even back then, my appetite was …show more content…
Licking my lips in anticipation, I grabbed the last one, the others having already been consumed by my also-very-hungry sister. As I washed it off, I realized that there was a chunk in this veggie that had gone bad. Man, was I in a predicament. I knew that I couldn’t eat it, but I really wanted to eat it. All I would have to do, I thought, is slice that bad part off. Now, my parents were constantly preaching to my sister and I that knives were off limits. Unfortunately for me, I made the gaffe of disobeying them and heading straight for the cupboard where we keep the sharp tools. I ever-so-quietly snuck open the door, reaching up with my tiny hands, fumbling around until I found what I needed: a small, very sharp knife. I slid the blade carefully into a wedge right above the bad part. Having zero previous experience with knives, I had no idea that it wouldn’t just carve right through the carrot. It became jammed in the very middle of the vegetable, lodged so that I couldn’t get it out. Frustrated, I put all of my pressure on it to try to loosen it. A moment later, I felt a …show more content…
She told me that if something like that ever happened again, that I should come to her right away. I felt a little better emotionally, but physically, my finger as starting to throb. By this time, it had swollen up and was a sight for sore eyes. Upon arrival at the office, I was thrust into a room of coughing, sneezing, and crying kids my age. Thankfully, I was able to see my pediatrician right away, meaning I didn’t have to stay long. He asked me a questioned me about what happened, which seemed awkward, because now he knew that I had disobeyed my parents, too. All he ended up doing was sticking an incredibly long needle directly into my cut, numbing it. I thought I was done, good as new. The pain was gone, so I was a happy camper. I stood up, as if to leave, when, through the door of the room, came a nurse with another needle, but this time, it had some thread attached. ‘Oh boy, here we go’, I thought. She proceeded to tell me that it wouldn’t hurt, saying that I didn’t have to watch if I didn’t want to. I saw every second of her pushing that needle through my finger. By the time I left, it was only around four-o’clock, but my mom and I stopped and ate at Culvers anyway. We talked about the stories I would tell my friends the next day at school, and how I was never going to do this