Shoreline

I was in a paddle boat with my friend, Melissa's stepfather, Danny. His two children were in another boat. We were paddling quickly, and having a good time. The other boat tipped over, and I knew that our boat was next.

Danny was already out of the boat, but I would have to walk to shore. The water was clear. I looked down and saw that the entire bottom of the lake was littered with herione syringes. I was terrified of walking to the shore; I was afraid of contacting aids. I was afraid of stepping on the syringes, but there weren't needles in them any longer. I walked on my tiptoes.

Danny urged me to the shore, he told me that everything would be fine. I knew something was going to happen, I could feel it in my sinking stomach.

I stepped on a syringe, and it penetrated my foot. Danny swam to where I was and pulled me to the shore. We sat on the bank, and he pulled the plastic from my foot-- I screamed. I knew that he wouldn't be able to dislodge the syringe. I cried and cried.

(When I woke my sock was wrapped around my foot in the same place the syringe was stuck.)