My new bike couldn't let me down. We were pretty close to a tie, if I could beat him on the curve, I would for sure win the race! I went for it. I'm almost positive that I drifted, that is if an eight year old could drift on a bicycle. I did drift, but I drifted my body onto the floor, landing on sharp little rocks. As my cousin saw me headed towards the ground, he too stopped and stationed his bike. He noticed it before I did, red liquid stuff trickling down my knee, painting the rocks an unpleasant red. I knew something was wrong because my legs and arms ached and the neighborhood kids who were watching us race started to gather around me. I looked at my knee because that's what hurt the most as I tried to get up. I couldn't believe my eyes, I thought I was going to die when I saw a small rock engraved into my skin! I didn't want to move; I sat there crying until someone called my grandma over. Without mercy, she plucked the rock out of my left knee.
"Ouch!" I yelled.
The other kids oohed and awed because of the wound that the rock had left. It had literally dug all the way into my bone as to where you could actually see the bone. It was the whitest white I had ever seen in my life! I cried even more because I thought it was going to stay like that forever.
I looked over to my cousin, he had a worrisome look on his face.
"What's wrong," I asked.
"This is all my fault," he said, "if I knew you were going to get hurt I wouldn't have raced you... You win!"
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