It was the end of a day when everything was going my way for once. And after brushing my teeth, flossing, and putting on my contact lenses, I was ready to plop in my bed — that is, until I slipped.
First, I fell back, about to crash into the ground. But then I had the great idea to do big arm circles to bring myself upright and away from the bone-breaking fall. It worked, and I stood straight, satisfied that I still had my body intact. I took another step, only to trip over my brother’s sock and face-plant myself on the floor the other way.
I sighed into the floorboards. “Well, I guess it’s physically impossible to have a completely perfect day.”
I lied there, not wanting to get up; I delayed that moment as long as possible. As my face made contact with the cold, hard floor, I was overcome with a peculiar sensation. It was a taste, something I had never experienced before – the taste of the ground. It was earthy and gritty, a mix of dust, grime, and the faint residue of cleaning products long past their effectiveness.
I couldn’t help but be slightly curious about this peculiar taste. It didn’t taste as bad as I had believed it might, and now that I found myself face down on the floor, my intrusive thoughts took over.
I licked the ground again.
And I rolled over onto my back, fully immersed in the unexpected sensory experience.
As I lied there, contemplating my somewhat bizarre position, I realized that maybe this wasn’t such a terrible end to my otherwise perfect day. The taste of the ground may be odd and unpleasant to some, but to me, it served as a reminder to appreciate all the little details in life – even something as simple as the ground beneath our feet or a “thank you” from a classmate.
With a renewed appreciation for all things extraordinary, I managed to pick myself up off the floor and clambered into bed. As I drifted off to sleep with the lingering flavor still on my tongue, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for such an unforgettable end to my seemingly perfect day.
First, I fell back, about to crash into the ground. But then I had the great idea to do big arm circles to bring myself upright and away from the bone-breaking fall. It worked, and I stood straight, satisfied that I still had my body intact. I took another step, only to trip over my brother’s sock and face-plant myself on the floor the other way.
I sighed into the floorboards. “Well, I guess it’s physically impossible to have a completely perfect day.”
I lied there, not wanting to get up; I delayed that moment as long as possible. As my face made contact with the cold, hard floor, I was overcome with a peculiar sensation. It was a taste, something I had never experienced before – the taste of the ground. It was earthy and gritty, a mix of dust, grime, and the faint residue of cleaning products long past their effectiveness.
I couldn’t help but be slightly curious about this peculiar taste. It didn’t taste as bad as I had believed it might, and now that I found myself face down on the floor, my intrusive thoughts took over.
I licked the ground again.
And I rolled over onto my back, fully immersed in the unexpected sensory experience.
As I lied there, contemplating my somewhat bizarre position, I realized that maybe this wasn’t such a terrible end to my otherwise perfect day. The taste of the ground may be odd and unpleasant to some, but to me, it served as a reminder to appreciate all the little details in life – even something as simple as the ground beneath our feet or a “thank you” from a classmate.
With a renewed appreciation for all things extraordinary, I managed to pick myself up off the floor and clambered into bed. As I drifted off to sleep with the lingering flavor still on my tongue, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for such an unforgettable end to my seemingly perfect day.