I pick up a piece of wood to feel a searing pain pulse through my finger. The feeling of a thousand knives hits me in an instant. I drop to the floor, rocking back and forth and crying in pain. Waves of blood pour out of my wound. Will I die here? It’s not fair. I have yet to fully live my life and God decides to end my life here? Is there truly no hope for me? I try to get up and call for help but my wound is too grave. I’ve lost too much blood. I begged and begged God to give me a second chance at life but I was too late. I lay there, limp on the floor, and whispered my last words, “I don’t think I’m going to make it. This is where I die”. My mother smacks me on the head and says, “Stop being dramatic, it's just a splinter.”