Laura C • United Kingdom • 29
I was 10. I was wearing blue denim dungarees. I remember that day. I remember how unfair it felt that I was suddenly bleeding from a part of my body that I had only been told I had a few months before that Saturday.
It was bonfire night, a favourite of mine, and I was looking forward to running around, having a sparkler and eating baked beans by the bonfire. For November, I remember it being weirdly warm. Kind of sweaty, heavy weather. Like a storm brewing. It was around 3 pm. I remember going to the toilet and seeing a pure red stream of blood. I shouted for mum. She was calm, asked me if I was in any pain and then gave me a pad the size of pillow. I stuck it into my underwear, feeling like it was all incredibly unfair. I was just a little girl. Why this already?
I had a little cry in my room and put my coat on for the bonfire as the afternoon dropped dark. We walked to the pub. The clammy day had fallen into a crisp night with silver stars sparkling with the fireworks. I didn't feel like joining in. I felt too grown up. I sat in the grotty pub where the bonfire was at, drinking Pepsi and listening to the grown ups talking over ZZ Topp on the jukebox. I felt my childhood dying. It was the start of my throughly frustrating teens and the enduring feeling of wanting to get away from where I was from. I was changing in every sense.
