My Worst Injury - Creative Writing

Categories: InjuryWriting

My worst injury happened six years ago when I was in the fourth year of my Primary School. It was mid autumn and it was getting colder day-by-day. The day of my accident was a particularly cold day the wind was whistling through the trees picking up the dead brown leaves and sending them to and fro across the playground, I could still smell the dew on the grass – fresh water that had fallen the previous night. Students were running around laughing and smiling trying to keep warm in this freezing weather.

At the start of the day I could sense that something bad was going to happen.

I did not feel right as I walked into my ancient school, that to my astonishment still had not fallen down. My jacket was tightly done up and I was already anxiously awaiting the bell to signal registration. The school was warm and comforting and, though it may not look it from the outside, clean and welcoming.

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We had a long tough morning, doing hard work and we were now desperately awaiting the bell to signal break time. By now we were more than happy to leave the warmth and comfort of the inside of the school and go to the cold, desolate playground.

We could do what ever we wanted in the playground without consent of the teachers this made us feel big and almost kingly. The main footballer in our year organized a big game with the year above us, because we had finally bored of playing football with the same teams and the same players day in and day out.

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After standing in the playground waiting to get a game of football ready, the bell went and we had to go back into the school for some more lessons. A huge game of football was awaiting us in our lunch period.

Many of my friends were very impatient but they did not know their peril. I was dispirited about the fact that this game was arranged; because they were bigger and stronger so would over-power us and use there strength to favour themselves. So to avoid being pushed around, I had opted to be the goalkeeper. The day slowly drifted on, and my friends were getting more impatient by the minute. They completed their work hastily hoping to get let out to roam the playground early. Finally Judgment hour came.

The bell rang and we rushed out quickly putting on our trainers, before we started the game we gorged down our lunch and ran out to the playground, I was still not keen on playing this match, but I could do nothing to prevent it. We had a parley before the start of the match – making sure the numbers were fair. They were indeed fair to start with, but five minutes into the game we were out numbered as they had more people joining in and we could do nothing to prevent this. It was a tough game with goals being scored frequently.

I played well making many spectacular saves and some foolish mistakes but we were winning by a considerable amount. Time went on and we worked harder as there was a substantial increase in the goals that we scored and I am proud to say that I was saving more as well. Towards the end of the game when spirits were high, I was injured and almost broke my leg. It was a one on one, a boy called Farhad had broken through the defence. He was in possession of the football and I was left with no option but to come out to him and dive in front of the ball, forcing him to shoot and hope it would ricochet off me and back to a defender.

This did happen – it did ricochet, this caused Farhad to get very annoyed so in his anger he stepped hard on my right leg at the joint were the kneecap is. I was in pain beyond belief. He had stepped down very hard and it was like the whole world had stopped and I was lying there helpless I could not walk. I could not believe that he would do something like that as he was normally a calm considerate person. I was very annoyed with him, I wanted to lash out and hit him but I was unable to. Two of my friends had to help me get up and I limped inside, saying nothing to Farhad and not even hearing an apology.

Sitting inside was not nearly as enjoyable as playing outside for that’s what I had to do. I sat for about twenty minutes until my mother came to pick me up. She had been rung to take me home because I was in pain and in no position to do any work. I sat for hours at home shifting around on my seat. My mother got increasingly worried and she decided to take me to Northwick Park Hospital. I remember this part most clearly we parked up as close to the hospital as possible, but still it was quite far. There was a ramp, which we had to walk up.

It was on the far right of the hospital were the ambulances are parked; I could not muster enough strength to walk up it so I was picked up and carried to the hospital. We had to wait for a very long time before I was seen because there was a man sitting in front of me all bloodied and bruised as though he had just been in a fight against more than one person. The doctor had to see him first because he needed to be stitched up, as he was bleeding terribly. I had tried to sleep but I couldn’t because my leg was searing with pain. When I was seen, it was about one o’clock in the morning. I was taken to an X-ray room.

I was laid on a bed and a block of lead was put on my stomach. This was to prevent damage to my body from the radiation that was to be emitted. My mum and the doctor stood behind a door so that they were also protected and the X-ray was taken. It took about five minutes. I then saw my leg bone on a piece of laminate paper. Luckily no real damage had been sustained as nothing was broken however, the worst part was that I had to wear a bandage for the next three months and I could not kick a football or run, this upset me highly as I enjoyed partaking in sports and had to refrain from doing so.

I walked with a limp for the next week or so and I had to watch the football during lunch and break. I hated the boy Farhad from that day on because I didn’t even get an apology from him. I still despise this boy and even more when I learned that I would be coming to the same secondary school as him. He now is in year twelve (the year above me) and I haven’t talked to him since I started at Watford Boys, which was four years ago.

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My Worst Injury - Creative Writing. (2020, Jun 02). Retrieved from

My Worst Injury - Creative Writing

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