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Disappointment, too late to cry over spilt milk | Essay for kids | Elijah Wee | Singapore

Disappointment

            It was too late to cry over spilt milk.

            It was just like any football practice with my friends, Fred, Nathan, Dominic and Sean. It was our routine football practice with my best friends in school. All of us were in the school’s football team and we were competing with a neighbouring school in four weeks time. As such, our coach had insisted on consistent training.

            That was when tragedy struck.

            Our faces beaded with perspiration, I was just about to deliver a goal when Fred barrelled into me. An agonizing crack drifted noisily in all directions as my friends stared at my awkward figure sprawled on the football court. It was not long before help arrived. Fate was harsh that day as I had twisted my ankle and I could not play football for a fortnight.

            Replaying the events that had unfolded that fateful Friday, I stood with my crutches supporting me. Misery blatantly etched across my face as I watched my exhilarated friends at play. It was so unfair. Why had fate to punish me by preventing me from practicing with my friends? Hanging onto the sides of my crutches till my knuckles turned white, an idea struck me like a flash of lightning. Why not practise with my friends when our coach was not keeping an eye on me?

            At that point in time, a teacher rushed over and distracted our coach.

            I sprang into action. I flung my crutches aside and staggered forward resolutely paying no heed to the aching pain in my ankle. Unknown to me, my friends were having a vigorous match and the ball was kicked so hard that it could knock anybody not careful enough off balance. Before I could even say a single word, I caught a glimpse of the ball flying in my direction and slamming into my chest. It knocked me off my feet with a thunderous thud. The familiar cracking sound sounded out once again. It sounded very much worse before I slipped into unconsciousness …

            Now I am lying in the ward of the hospital, nursing my fractured ankle and surrounded by four whitewashed walls. Every now and then, a lone tear slips down my eyes unguarded, revealing the only sign of my fragility. Oh, the regret. Why didn’t I need the doctor’s advice to avoid playing football? My chance to represent my school in the football match was gone like the wind. Staring out of the only window in the ward, I could only form one thought in my mind.
           
            It was too late to cry over spilt milk.

 Elijah Wee, Singapore

Photo credit: Camilla Soares / Foter / Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)


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