Welcome to Blood Week. We put out the call last week for your tales of of blood, violence, gruesome injuries, near-death experiences, mayhem, and blood. Many of you came through with submissions, which we'll be posting throughout the week. If you have a story and/or photos to share, email firstname.lastname@example.org, with Blood Week in the subject line.
James S. has a story that's one of the best we've received all week. No other commentary is needed. Let's let him take it from here:
When I was 17, I was riding in the back of my brothers Toyota 4-runner, which had the top off. We were trail riding down muddy a dirt road which led back into the woods (redneck surfing ... look, we are from Georgia; it's a right of passage ... tard passage.) It was raining and on our way back. I went to wipe the roll bar I was holding on to with my right hand and the truck dipped down into one of the massive holes on the trail. When the back end launched up, I did as well. I lost my grip on the roll bar and then everything happened in slow motion.
I remember thinking, "Oh, I am going to have my brains smashed in by a tree. Well that won't be too bad." Then I hit the side of the hill and rolled underneath the truck. The driver didn't know I was thrown out. All I remember for the next minute was a mixture of rocks, sticks, and mud digging into my back, plus the smell of hot water and rubber. I saw my legs sliding back and forth, and all I could think was, "God, if I live though this, I will never masturbate again." I know it's stupid, but I really thought that. About that time, I could hear screaming coming from the girl who was riding next to me. I somehow came unhooked from the truck. How I was on, I will never know.
I was face down in the mud and started to rise as the truck that was behind us came around the bend. They stopped not because they saw me, but because they heard the blood curdling scream coming from the other truck.
I just remember waking up stuck to the sheets. I know that when I get to heaven, God is going to look at me, shake his head, and tell me, "James, you broke your promise ... a lot."
This is me before the accident:
This is me after:
I wish I had a picture of my back because it looked like I had been attacked by a wolverine. When I see these pictures and realize what I looked like, I may or may not think that I probably should have died. I mean, I look like Nosferatu.