sense this.

Hearing:

The wind blowing through the leaves. Then a soft snap and deafening crunch. Loud ringing, scrapping shoes against dry concrete, then a blood curdling scream and running.

Taste:

Foul tasting iron and copper, mixed with mud. The taste of bitter sweet walnuts still ripe on my tongue. Hints of black cherry Kool-Aid behind the taste of my own blood.

Smell:

Sweet baking cookies fresh from the oven. Salty sweat from hours of playing. A sharp tang of blood with hints of fresh cut grass. Some say concrete has no smell but I swear I smelt it as I laid there breathing in the smell of warm rocks and sand mixed together.

Touch:

Leaves in grasping hands and a small branch’s bark biting into my skin. A sharp pain in my head, soreness throughout my entire body like I had been laying there for ages. Balance shifting to stand up pounding pressure in my head, soft hair as I inspected my head then a warm sticky substance gushing between my fingers as I had found the wound I prodded deeper not feeling anything in my head then the smooth surface of bone.

Sight:

a little parachute man stuck in a tree. A small branch sister jumping up to grab parachute man failing to grab it gaze shifted up to the sky sharply. Blackness follows after I met the concrete. My sisters running inside, my dad running towards me, blackness.