Bunny Meat

Comic 86 - Mosquito

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26th Sep 2017, 10:21 PM


I dunno if you still take stories, but...here's one of mine if you're interested:

When I was four or five, I fell into a swimming pool. I wasn't scared or worried that I couldn't breathe or anything; just in wonder that no one had noticed right away. The clearest memory of have of that day is looking up and seeing the world go on without me, perfectly fine. Someone was even laughing up there. Then my aunt splashed in to save me, and instead of comforting me, my mother began to scold me for falling in and making her sister have to fetch me. That was when I began to cry. Whether it was gravity of the situation hitting me or being scolded for something I hadn't wanted to do, I'm still not sure, but every once in a while I'll jolt awake from a recurring dream in which I can hear people laughing and I cannot breathe or speak.

Again, sorry if this is the wrong place for submitting stories or if you aren't taking them anymore. I adore your work, and your fascination with stories from people like me. I'm very happy you illustrate them and get people's stories out. Thank you.

16th Oct 2017, 2:11 AM edit delete reply

Thank you.

16th Nov 2017, 8:23 PM edit delete reply

When I was three, I was diagnosed with ADHD, and I really started manifesting symptoms at age six. We were living in Venezuela at the time (I was born and had lived in the States up until then) and I was going to a private school. My parents hadn't found a medication that worked yet, and I was an unholy terror at school. I would disrupt class with random outbursts, bite other kids, even pants girls.
What I remember most was the last day of school before summer let out. There was this game the first graders used to play, where we pretended to be miners and would throw rocks at the really steep hill (more of a cliff face, really) that bordered the soccer field we were allowed to play in during recess. Only, for some reason, on the last day of school, we had to play in the kindergarteners' area, which was much smaller, and we had to play at the same time as them. One of the other first graders had found this huge rock, easily three or four pounds, and we decided to use it in our game. None of use could throw it without using both hands. We would take turns throwing it at the cliff, standing back a few feet.
When it was my turn, one of the kindergarteners (I only knew he was younger because we had to wear uniforms, first graders had white shirts, kindergarteners had red ones) stepped in between me and the rock face. I was holding the rock above my head. There was a moment where I could have stopped.

I remember the teacher on duty pulling me and that kid away, as he was bawling his eyes out and bleeding. She looked at me and said, "Look what you did. How do you feel about this? Are you proud of what you've done?"
I didn't answer her, or, at least, I don't remember answering her. I do remember, very vividly, the color of his blood as it stained his red shirt, and how odd the colors looked together.

I never saw that kid again, but I was told later he had to get at least two stitches in his head. I never learned his name, never was made to say sorry to him. We moved back to the US after that summer.

To this day, I wish I could apologize to him for what I did.

21st Oct 2017, 1:17 AM edit delete reply

Using this one for sure. Thank you.

16th Nov 2017, 8:22 PM edit delete reply

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