Upon reaching the soccer field, I learned that we were losing five to two. But as I watched, in the last ten minutes of the game, we scored thrice more, equalizing the score. In most soccer games, as the game draws to a close, the action gets less and less. But not this one. In this one, as the end of the game came closer and closer, the players actually got more and more intense and active. I guess that they really wanted to win. I didn’t stay for the overtime, annoyed that the game was not decided and was still going on, as I needed to go home. As I turned around violently to head home, I whacked Beom-Jin in the face. He had walked up without me noticing. As he staggered backwards, and then fell down the hill, I saw a rivulet of blood spring up from his face where my nail must have punctured his skin. I rushed to help him, and saw that in addition to the cut on his face, he was scraped up from falling down. I assisted him in getting up, and inquired about his injuries. He said he was fine, but I was still worried about him, and felt really bad that I had injured him. I escorted him back to his bike, and from there, back to his house. By then, though, I was feeling better, because Beom-Jin was acting normal. But I still felt a little guilty, because I had hurt him, and because I didn’t want him to worry about hurting me. I went home, and came to school the next day, and there was Beom-Jin, good as ever, and there I was, good as ever. Well almost; my hand was still bandaged but the pain had subsided.

A couple of weeks later, I hurt my friend Ben. Ben, some others, and I were playing soccer upfield, and I was sprinting along after the ball, when I ran into Ben. He, being a lot lighter and shorter than me, went flying. He was winded, and he bruised his arm, because it rammed into a goal post. I, along with most others on the field, went up to see how he was, and see if he was all right. I helped him home, and started worrying about him and his injury, till he and it (respectively) got better. Until it did, though, I felt really bad about it, because it had been I who ran into him, and I who had bruised his arm.

And so life goes on; we play, we get hurt, we take care of each other. And that cat continues to howl.