There's something funny about noses.
Noses tell a lot about a person. They're the keys to unlocking one's personality, their darkest secrets, their hidden passion. And people tend to be proud of them when you see all the burdens and complications they go through to make their noses perfect.
But there's nothing wrong with that, I assure you! There's nothing wrong about feeling proud of your Roman nose or believing that your petite upturned nose is firmly superior. It's just that when you take things any further--like thinking your nose has god-like qualities---you can bet your life that we'll be running around, screaming, 'Quick, call the hospital! This one has gone mad!!'
This is another one of those moments. You know, those moments where you'll be screaming for a mental hospital, eyes bulging as you witness yet another of my stupid mistakes.
English teachers say that you should show, not tell. And that every story has a beginning, end, middle, a plot, some characters, and, in this case, a seven-year-old girl who did not know what she was doing.
To start, I want you to picture the setting very clearly in your head. I want you to be the playground, the very core of this story. Be the eyes of the swings and slides and monkey bars. Can you feel the children now, running into the gates of the playground with the same enthusiasm as an excited dog, only more powerful, more overwhelming, and most likely to kill you if you went too close? Can you feel the slick texture of their faces, thanks to the mud of humid India? Do you hear the sound of laughter, giggles, hollers, and screams in every inch and centimeter of the place, breathing life into the playground?
Down away now, a bit too the left, hidden in the shadows of the majestic, terrifying monkey bars, stood a seven-year-old me. Look at how I stand, black eyes goggling at the tangle of blue, red, and yellow metal bars. Here, at this moment, comes the first movement in this story. My little hands and feet eagerly reach out for the bars and barely manage to heave my little 32 pounds a few centimeters off the ground. Before I know it, I'm upside down, suspending dangerously from my knees. I pull back, and the sound of bones crushing against metal is the only thing I hear at that moment--and 'Oh, you've broken your nose? You poor thing!' for the next few weeks.
A/N - It's not ending anytime soon.