It was on the second to last downstroke that the knife hooked the teddy bear, flinging it up in the air when I raised the blade for another go. Before I could stop myself, the knife was plummeting down. And with no stuffed animal there, the knife landed on me, in me, sliding sharply into the middle of my thigh.

The pain flashed through me. I pulled the knife out on reflex and looked at it. It was clean. Absolutely clean.

And for a moment, with time stopped, I wondered why, in the movies, when someone stabs someone else, the knife comes out all bloody.

Then I looked at my leg. And there, in that split-second before the blood started, the wound looked pristine. And for a moment, I thought maybe that didn't just happen. Maybe I'm okay.

And then the blood started.

So I did what any twelve year-old, independent, adult boy does when he's bleeding. I cried out for my daddy.