A Pocketful

19 Oct

By Emma Davis
7th Grade

One Sunday several years ago my little sister, mom, and I were on our way back from the Ela fruit stand with a bag of apples and some peaches. I stuck my hand in the top right pocket of my chocolate-colored cargo pants, drawing it out again as soon as it was in, preparing to remove the thorn that had jabbed the tip of my thumb. But as soon as my thumb was out of my pocket, I screamed bloody murder, my eyes wide with fear. There on my thumb was a yellow wasp, its stinger lodged in my thumb-tip.

I froze, my already warm face burning with embarrassment like a blazing wildfire, my mouth dry and gaping. Time stopped. My mom’s hand rested on my thumb, the wasp frozen like a statuette. All around me people’s heads were turned to me, and the sweet smell of frying donuts hung stock-still in mid-air.


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