When I was six, our cousin threw a toy bowling ball at my head. I touched my forehead in shock, still processing what happened, but in the next second, you got your hands on him. You towered on top of him with his shirt held in your fists, shouting at him for daring to hurt me. You took that toy bowling ball, then threw it at him so he knew what it felt like.
a recovering bookworm writing through a quest to define what it means to be.