I gashed my head opean

It was a warm summer day when I was eight years old and I decide to entertain my younger self by staying indoors and play with my sister.  I was whipping a white, snow princess tutu rapidly. Just like you would whip a garbage bag before putting it in the garbage can. My little sister, Emma, only three years old, let out a happy giggle soft and innocent. I felt like a fashion designer playing dress up with her just like she was a grown model getting ready to go on the cat walk. She was taking in all the excitement of playing with her big sister feeling older then she was. Each time I whipped the skirt she let out a bigger giggle so, to get out a gigantic giggle out her little mouth I put the tutu behind my head and threw it over.  

In that moment, I felt pain, something sharp had scrapped across my long hair.  Quickly my head was sliced open as I heard a clatter and ka-clunk that echoed through our small and messy toy room. I reached up to where the sharp pain was coming from and I felt something wet on my middle-parted hair, my hair was wet. I had a moment of shock, as a deer in headlight would, I slowly pulled my hand down to see what made my hair wet. I discovered a scene that looked fresh out of a horror movie. My hand was covered in bright red blood that was quickly spreading everywhere. 

I cried out, “Mom,” as I still in shock carefully walked to her, with my hand in front of my chest and my little body shaking.  She was in the kitchen doing the dishes and let out in her soft, sweet, and caring voice “What's wrong sweetie?” I showed her my hand and said, “I cut myself.” She was confused as to where the blood had come from because she did not see any wounds. Confused, she took out a flashlight to see what I was taking about. As she was moving my hair, I let out a whinny “Ouch, please stop!” She had no response and kept looking. When she had finally stop running her fingers across my scalp she paused and said, “Julia, honey I can see your skull!” 

She later interrogated me on what happened, and I realized myself that I had not figured out what had made that strange sound. So, we slowly walked back to our toy room as she held a rag with an insane amount of pressure on top of the gash. There was poor little Emma sitting scared almost in tears and an attachment piece for my brothers John Deere tractor toy tied to the snow princess tutu. The square shaped jagged edges of the toy laid there the culprit of my deep, painful cut.  

Now as my mother knew exactly what happened, she called my grandma, a retired EMT. As she was waiting for her to answer she expressed (vivid verb) her frustration toward me and my flaw of not looking before I did something. Luckily for me my grandmother answered as my mother explained to her what had happened she said “Save the trip and just tie her hair together” shocked my mom loudly stated “I can see her skull” after that she hanged up and left her house to take me to the emergency room because my mom was alone with my younger siblings. She came and we were trying to figure out how to keep pressure on the wounded but with the awkward position we decided to just leave and drive. My grandma and I meet my dad at the hospital. The smell of the hospital filled my nose.  Lucky, I will only need a few staples in my head. It does seem awful but, not as awful as I was imagining it to be.  

I got a numbing shot before the put the four staples to close the deep wound. I was surprisingly at peace, and I was fascinated with the tools that they were using and wanted to look at every little thing they were doing. Finally, I was at ease, I wasn’t anxious with what was to come. My grandma was watching as they threw away the human staple gun. She thought to herself then spoke up and said “It's a shame we have to throw that away when it is perfectly fine. Can I have it?” After the nurse politely explained to her why she could not have it we quickly went home.  Grandma was only looking to save a future trip to the emergency room.