entry one

i was ten when i first saw it. he was kicking a rock down the road, i shouted to him that there was a car coming, but he said that this would be the last kick and it would be a big one. it was the last kick he would ever make. he was also ten, good grades, bright blue eyes, blonde hair. but when the car hit him his hair was wet and red. his eyes were dull, and everything in him was slow. we were small, they didnt see us on the road, he pushed me out of the way. in reality i probably only stumbled forwards a bit, but i swore that i went miles when he pushed me. i remember the feeling of my knees being scraped, but i didnt focus on it. i was focusing on the scream from him, and then how his head was open on the pavement. against the freshly paved road it looked almost black. he lived up the hill, and it took what felt like five hours for his parents to know. he went to the hospital and i never saw him again. i moved a year later. i was ten when i first saw it, first saw real hurt. i was ten. i was just ten.