A body is a vessel and should be respected with the thought of future preservation. Minding the knowledge that the M Universe Theory could exist. This paradox is the thought that our universe is a braincell that belongs to a bigger vessel, we as humans have our own braincells, many have pondered that our braincells could be many universes in their own. Thinking about the life forms trapped inside each and every smaller universe within you, while you are in your universe, while that universe could be trapped in another vessel, trapped in another universe. When taking this into thought and understanding the theory, you could call yourself full of universes and things that could pursued your thought further. Any amount of pain, sickness, or self harm could injure and kill the smaller universes inside of you, you must keep yourself safe. Don't do stupid things such as try to pull a 20 lbs jar of pickles off of a 3 foot counter while standing on a wobbly three legged chair.
Allow me to set the scene. It is the year 2005, a small girl stands alone in her kitchen. Her brothers and sisters are gone at friends house and abroad. Her father is at work and her mother is in the shower. She stares up at a extremely large jar of succulent pickles. A rather large pickled cucumber sends angst through her body. She would despise to wait until her mother can help her get the jar down. She wants one NOW.
Searching every crack for a stool to guide access to the food supply. Finding no others that fit her size, she chooses a rather unsteady looking 3 legged stool. It's about time you learn this girl's name, her name is Lili. Lili is me. As soon as I set the stool up to the counter, I wrapped my arms around the icy jar. As I took the Kosher Jar into a hungry hug the stool slipped.
Everything that could have gone wrong did. The wannabe chair was yanked from under my feet by sheer inertia, the chair was never still in the first place. I pulled the jar down and had a single thought rush through my mind, MOTHER! In sheer frustration and terror the jar crashed over and on top of me. I was not only about to throw a temper tantrum, but I was scared and severely hurt. I was always the 'gotta go fast' kinda child but come on, this was RIDICULOUS! I laid for a moment on my back, then made the stupid idea of turning over and impaling my hands with not only glass, but salty pickling juices.
I screamed for what appeared to be ten minutes (which was probably a little less than 4 minutes) sobbing grossly as the blood and juice stained my favorite dress while the rancid oder fill my nostrils.
My mother then walked cluelessly from the bathroom to my stairway. I yelled louder not understanding how she couldn't hear my screaming. She had a towel draped over her shoulders, her auburn hair dark and wet against the orange towel. She finally heard me after three minutes of being upstairs, she stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen to see what was wrong. And starting the revolution of us kids cleaning the kitchen or living room while my mother is out so she can relax when she gets home.
As the fantastic child I was, I displayed the picture of perfect beauty, covered in pickle juice. She ran over and avoided the glass and yanking me from the ground, blood rushed past my glass stained fingers. And as all wise mothers do, she rinsed my hands under a stink of cold water. COLD WATER. /Cold water/. *cold water*. After I bellowed and shrieked due to the burn and blood, my mother ran me out to the car and drove to the Hospital as fast as she could.
I don't remember much about the stitching process, but my male nurse had brown hair and my female nurse had carmel highlights. From what I felt like, I was on my belly as they stitched me up. I looked back every now and then to see what was happening, colorful pins that I thought were thumbtacks held my skin together. After the process was finished, I couldn't feel my hands. My mother hugged me as she carried me out to the car.
"You couldn't have waited for me to get finished getting dressed?" She kissed my nose.
"No." Claimed my innocent self, as I stared down at the black stitches.
Ever since then I learned to bite off what I can chew and no more. Since none of my sisters and brothers were there for the catastrophe,I tried numerous times to convince them it actually happened, and even today they question the incident . And after all. The only proof I have is the scars on my hands, and my pure hatred for Kosher Pickles.
Sorry guys this is a thing for school hate me forever idk