It was sunny, too warm for the end of October. The perfect day to cut the hedges and trees in the garden. I put on the working gloves, and all went well for the first hour: cutting the hegde, cutting the withered summer flowers. Then I started to cut the rosehip bush. I knew that it would be better to put on a long sleeved working shirt for this one, but somehow I just kept cutting. And of course, just some minutes later, one of its thorny twigs scratched across my bare left forearm, as if to say "so there."
The scratch wasn't deep, it didn't even start to bleed, but it was long, ending at my wrist, running almost parallel to the vein that is visible there through the skin. So even when I put on a long sleeved pullover, it looked like I tried to cut my wrist in the way that would do most harm.
- anovelinayear, task 3: I want you to think about a time in your life when you had an accident, then I want you to write an account of that accident. Just tell me what happened, without embellishment or analysis.
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