"Morning again?" I asked drearily, not expecting an answer. I got up to brush my teeth. I stopped to look at myself in the mirror. Ugh. No wonder I only have one friend. I looked over at the window. I saw a familiar black butterfly sitting on my window ledge. The same one I saw a few days before my dad...

"Ash honey! Breakfast is ready!" my mom called from downstairs.

"In a minute!" I replied. I put the toothbrush in my mouth and began to brush. I'm the least popular boy in my school. Or the most popular for getting bullied. It all depends on point of view was. My mom knows about this, yet she tries her best to make me the happiest person on Earth. Sometimes it works. Other times, I'm just not feeling it.

She lets me choose if I want to go to school or not. I usually go everyday, but sometimes I just don't feel like it. I spit out my toothpaste. Today was a Wednesday but...

My mind suddenly went to Paul, my (only) best friend. Of course I'll go to school.

I raced to my drawer to get dressed. Typical school uniform: Collared, button-up, long sleeve with a blue and navy blue striped tie, and some khakis. I went to the bathroom to brush my boring black hair. Paul doesn't think it's boring. He's always referring to it as "ebony" or "raven". I tell him to stop, but he doesn't. Paul knows a lot about. He also knows stuff about me I never remember telling him...

I stepped outside my door, and the ever-so-loved smell of bacon and eggs was already floating through my nose. I took a deep breath.

"Ahhh..." I said, "Coming!" I started running down the stairs. My stomach growled, and I got more excited to eat that bacon. So excited that I missed a step. I closed my eyes as I felt my body roll down the stairs. I hit the bottom with a soft thud; and a loud crack. Fortunately, my arm broke the fall. Unfortunately, my arm broke, too.

"AAACK!" I screamed as my mom bolted towards me.

"Ash! My baby! Are you okay?!" she practically screamed. Her face had turned really red. She looked like she was about to cry. She was crying.

"My... a-arrrm...," was all I could manage to say. I tried to move it. I felt a burning sensation jolt through my arm, like it had burst into flames. I let out another screech as more tears rolled out of my eyes and onto to beige carpet. Except I wasn't only crying because of the pain, although that had a big part in it. I was also crying because of my baseball dreams. If I broke my arm, that means no baseball practice! And lost baseball practice won't help my athletic skills. And if my athletic skills get worse, (if that's even possible) then I can kiss my baseball dreams goodbye! I tried not to think about that last part.

I looked over. My mom had rushed over to the phone, probably dialing 911. I lay there wailing in pain for about 5 minutes (forever to me) until the ambulance got there."Shh... it's going to be okay," my mom tried to reassure me.

When the ambulance got there, a man knocked on the door and my mom opened it. I saw them talking, then my mom nodded her head and walked over back to me. "They're going to fix this here, okay?" she told me. I nodded my head as much as I could; then waited.

A few minutes later, a man and a woman came rushing through the door with a bunch of equipment stuffed under their arms and in their hands. They sat down next to me, and pretty soon I felt my arm being slightly lifted. I tried to muffle my scream but it came out as a distorted "Mmph!"

"Just relax, it will be okay," the lady said, a bit impatiently. I wanted to believe her, but I just couldn't. I had to play baseball. Or, at least, practice it. I felt something cold and wet being wrapped around my arm. I looked down. A cast, of COURSE it was a cast! At least it was red. I felt it hardening as they put it on. It only took about 20 minutes, but it felt like years. The paramedics were packing up and beginning to leave.

"How long?" my mom asked before they left. The man looked deep in thought as if he were calculating something.

"It's pretty serious, 2 broken areas," the man finally said, "I'd say about 10 to 12 weeks." I groaned too quietly for the paramedics to hear, but not to quietly for my mom to hear. My mom thanked them as they closed the door behind them. Great! Just great! 10 to 12 weeks with no baseball. Just my luck.

Once they left, my mom told me to just skip school and go to my room. She brought my breakfast to me and I ate it, slowly beginning to hate the first meal of the day. I finished it, sat the plate on my nightstand, laid down and drifted off to sleep.