Golf cart

Around the time this happened I was around the ages of 8-10.

I was with my nephew (11-13 at the time) driving my moms golf cart around the house. We were flooring it, having so much fun. Then we turned around the garage, apparently we turned again, and hit the gas tank. The gas tank went flying, and almost hit the garage. My face bashed into the steering wheel. Me and my nephew looked at each other, my nephew ran for the house, and for a moment I just sat there, confused? Supprised? I don’t know.

Then, I ran for the house. My mom met me at the sliding doors, she yelled my full name, “Look at yourself!” She pointed to the bathroom. I ran in and looked into the mirror. All I saw was blood coming from a gash under my lower lip. As I ran out my mom was getting a wet rag. She handed me it and told me to hold it on where the gash was.

I put it on and kept saying, “I’m gonna die.” Over and over again. I went to Urgent Care and got stitches where the gash was.

I’m now 11, we got red of the golf cart, and I have a scar under my lower lip. My parents called some people who came and put the gas tank up.

Photo credit: Image provided by the storyteller.