memoir feb 20

When my mom was just a girl playing on the grassland of Inner Mongolia, her eyes got shot. Looking into the eyes of the girl he hated, the boy lunched a rock with surprising accuracy right into the girl’s left eye. My mother felt the sudden force pushing her backward and the numbing pain in her eye. Staring at the boy who shot her, she could not imagine what had been his motivation. At first, the boy froze at the sight of blood, but when he realized the trouble he has caused, he disappeared down the dusty road. Confused and discombobulated she tasted the dripping blood in her mouth. The familiar metallic taste made her realize that she was indeed hurt. Relying on her shacking vision from a single eye, she slowly traced her way home. With drops of blood forming a line behind her, she felt along the bright red bricks of houses and followed up the rusty stairs of the apartment. Furiously pounding on the door, my mother screamed for help. While the boy was later found and his family paid for the medical services, my mother was scared for life. While she had normal vision, her left eye was forever damaged and she was forced to ware glasses.