People Are Revealing the Unbelievably Dumb Ways They Got Their Scar

I was 15 and working for a bowling alley. It was a Saturday and my sister, who worked at the bar, drove us to work. Seems my sister liked to pass her time by smoking pot while driving to work. Seems she liked to blow her hits towards the direction of her sleeping brother...for 30 minutes.

I get to work feeling awesome. Being a bar boy meant I had to pick up empty bottles and throw them in the bottle bin. I also was allowed to fix minor mishaps behind the bowling pin setting machine.

This day I decided to have fun and throw pins so people could make the 7-10 split and set the red pin in the head (so people won a free game if they bowled a strike). For some unknown reason I decided to reach IN THE PINSETTER and got my arm caught in the mechanism. The rake (the part that removed knocked-down pins) came back and tore my forearm wide open.

I knew I was in a heap of trouble. I looked at my arm and saw my veins. Miraculously none were severed but my dumb ass wanted to touch it with my nasty greasy finger...OUCH!!!!!

Starting to go into mild shock I suddenly realized I needed help. So, I walked down the middle of a lane so I could get immediate attention. After initially pissing off the bowlers they realized I was in trouble.

They RAN me to my sister at the bar. Because I ran my blood is now pumping furiously and blood is going everywhere. They call an ambulance and they take me to the hospital.

You’d think the story ends there with a fantastic scar...but it doesn’t. Unbeknownst to anyone, someone broke into a house near the bowling alley. Somehow they cut themselves and the trail of blood in the snow led back to...yep... the bowling alley.

While I’m in the hospital getting stitched up my Dad comes to see how I’m doing. My dad was a Lieutenant in the Fire Dept and took no shit. I told him what happened and must’ve thought I was the biggest dumbass in the world. Then the cops came.

Because the blood from the crime scene led to the bowling alley and I had a big cut, they wanted to take a sample of my blood. Now I’m freaking out because I left out the part where my sister got me stoned and I didn’t want her getting in trouble for me being stupid.

However, my dad looked those cops square in the eye, flashed his badge and said ‘my son didn’t do that, he’s not giving a blood sample, go away.”

God bless him they left. My sister didn’t get in trouble and I got fired. Totally deserved it. My scar is on my left arm about three inches wide and totally noticeable. Do I win?

Username: PublicWeasels

Let’s see. So picture this, 4 teenage guys (14-17), a lake with a dock, a bike without a chain, some plywood and a couple of two by fours. This dock goes into a lake that we regularly swam in despite it being of questionable cleanliness, also this was when that flesh eating bacteria was a thing.

Member that? The chick that was rafting in the chattahooche river around Atlanta and the cdc was telling people in the region not to swim in freshwater lakes/ ponds/ rivers and stuff because it could be in the water. Well we live just outside of Atlanta and this lake was fed by a stream that was fed by dog river, which is fed by the chattahooche.

So already swimming is a questionable idea at best. But this dock was perfect for it. The land around was largely undeveloped, like an area where they were going to build a neighborhood, it’s on a golf course and stuff, but they went bankrupt and never finished this section.

Anyways so they built a dock with a patio and little fireplace and what not and this dock extends maybe 10-15 feet over the lake and it’s about 6-7 feet deep where the dock ends. You also have to go down a pretty steep hill to get to the dock at all.

So now you can see the setting, dock where the neighborhood redneck no good teenagers go to drink and smoke cigarettes and burn shit and general fuckery takes place regularly.

So there we are, camel crushes and grizzly wintergreen In our mouths, bud light platinums In our hands with all the materials for some sick fuckin jumps bro. We set up this “ramp” at the end of the dock, nailing it down at the edge since preliminary trials showed that the ramp would simply slide off into the water if it wasnt secured.

Now this thing is angled at like 40* so it’s not really a slight incline. Also our jump bike has no chain so we’ve got to get that speed baby! We scrounge up a ratchet strap and working bike, and decide the best way is going to be to tow it down the maybe 20 ft of runway we have then disconnect at the last possible second ensuring a glorious launch into the heavens.

Somehow I am the crash test dummy, although we all would be taking a turn on this marvel of engineering we’ve created in the 20 minutes since the ideas conception. So there I am atop a muddy bank by the little parking area, tow bike ready to give the nudge to start my rapid descent to glory. I’m given the shove and it’s off to the races! Now we had previously tested this ramp with nobody on the bike, and it worked beautifully so we expected nothing less.

There I am finally at the bottom of the embankment, but needing more speed. The tow bike is pulling as fast as he can pedal that ten speed mongoose, at this point I realize I have no brakes and that I’m going full send no matter what. Now hurtling along faster than a formula one racecar, I disconnect the strap, expertly center on the ramp and get ready to abandon ship the second I’m in flight.

I hit the ramp and pull up on the handlebars so not to just flop into the water. As soon as the wheel leaves the ramp I knew I was fucked. I pulled up too early. Fuck. Down I go, face first into the water. Then my knee hits the dock. Here I am thinking I got atleast a little distance!

Nope. I feel a sharp pain in my calf as I’m going in and untangling myself from the bike that’s now sinking to the bottom. The other three standing at the edge of the dock, mouth agape, discussing what went wrong and how to correct it for the next run. I pull myself up out of the water and back onto the dock and as I pull up, I notice the rusty nail sticking out about two inches on the facia board on the dock.

I touch it with my finger and notice red on it as I’m pulling up out of the water, which was no small feat since the water is about 2 ft below the docks deck. So I sit down, feet dangling in the water and look down at my calf, which is sliced open about two and a half inches long and about the width of my pinky finger. Fuck. I look around at the boys who are oblivious, and go “guys I think I fucked up” as they’re chuckling I stand up. Queue ohfuck.exe.

Went home after that, poured a fuck ton of peroxide on that guy while dad is freaking out about flesh eating bacteria and how fucking stupid we are for building a ramp and jumping the bike and our general weekly fuckup that results in injury.

Put some surgical glue and a couple of butterfly bandages on it as it wasn’t bleeding bad anymore but the cut was deep. Never went to the doctor for it though, and my leg didn’t get eaten from the inside out so I guess all in all it was a win because after all it was a damn fun day for fuckery. Still have the scar though on my calf and it looks pretty cool imo. And I got an entertaining(to me) story from it. We had some good times though at that shithole of a dock.

Username: sweat119

I've got a doozy on my right eyebrow like Jason Mamoa and I hate to think of how it'd look if I hadn't ended up in the ER on the most traumatic day of my life.

Many years ago, my good friend Fitz and I made an impromptu road trip to visit my brother in Tampa. Upon arriving, I was notified that my brother had been incarcerated earlier in the day. Luckily, I had a key, and I knew where he kept the Valiums.

We found 20, so we decided, regretfully, to split them and make our way to Ybor City. In no time, we were buying strangers all the Everclear daiquiris they would willingly drink and matching them 1:1. I was an unwavering idiot at the time so afterwards, my friend and I attempted to drive home and got hopelessly lost.

After about a half-hour of recklessly swerving around blurry streets that I had never seen before and making absolutely no progress towards even departing Ybor, I could no longer contain my bladder. I pulled over frantically into a parking lot and told Fitz that I was going to piss around the corner.

I guess I had been sitting long enough for the grain alcohol to catch up because I only made it about eight floundering steps before I face planted into the pavement. It was freezing outside so I had my hands in the pockets of my white hoodie - I didn't even come close to getting them out in time to help break my fall. Face first into a mucky water puddle of some random asphalt parking lot in the hood.

I'm not sure how long I laid there but I somehow managed to eventually get myself up. I should've been (remained?) unconscious; I was definitely concussed. My formerly white hoodie was an appalling mix of brown sludge and the most blood I'd ever seen in my life.

I made it back to the car a good while later. I opened the driver's side door to awaken my passed out companion. "Dude, look what I did," I slurred, pointing drunkenly at my bloody face and now-rust-colored hoodie. "You think that's bad?" he replied apathetically, "Look what I did!"

Too drunk to attempt to vacate my passenger seat, Fitz had thoroughly pissed himself. I'm positive that I had too, though mine was nice and camouflaged with the blood and mud I was also covered in. I'm sure my car smelled great. We both laughed and drove home, as invincible fucktards in their early '20s are wont to do.

I woke up the next afternoon to some chick or another I was fucking at the time shaking me violently while being significantly louder than my pounding head could comfortably abide. Apparently I was supposed to stay with her the night before and I had never showed, never called, and had been unreachable all day. So she just showed up at my house to find my head in a bloody ruin.

She said she thought I was dead. Looking at my pillow, I wondered if I might actually be. Strange afterlife, I thought. I felt close to death anyway, but I had no idea what she was talking about. I remembered very little of the night before until I stumbled into the bathroom and literally saw Anthony Yigit after being completely fucking obliterated by Ivan Baranchyk staring back at me in the mirror. (Google it... or probably don’t. 😬)

She demanded I go to the ER--immediately if not sooner--and after the initial shock wore off, I agreed with her.That was the day I discovered what true pain was, and also that everything I previously thought I knew about the subject was unforgivably wrong. So fucking wrong. The gaping wound had completely dried up and was pretty much scabbed over.

Before they could stitch it up, that all had to be removed. The Verna Lemon-sized lesion in the side of my head had to be reopened. I'll spare you the gory details but I want to at least mention that because of the alcohol still in my system or because the masochistic nurse wanted to teach me a hard lesson or for some other reason I can no longer remember, they couldn't use any local anesthetic. Fucking Christ I'm shuddering just thinking about it. What followed was an eternity of infernal cutting, scraping, and peeling.

The nurse said I was the most difficult patient she had ever had, which is fitting because she inflicted more pain in me than I had ever known was possible. I was a sobbing, swearing, utter mess. I was lucky though, the doctor said I could've gone blind in that eye and that if they hadn't been able to stitch it because I had waited any longer or for whatever other reason, I would've looked undeniably similar to round 3 Glass Joe for the rest of my life

and never gotten laid again. Plus I totally should've bled out every drop of my emaciated blood in my sleep that night.The only reason I can tell this story is because of two women I can only vaguely remember the appearance of saving my life that day.

Shoutout also to Jason Mamoa for making eyebrows scars great again. God I was such a fuckup. I'm gonna do everything possible to prevent my kid from following in my footsteps - incurring avoidable scars included.

Username: Mikeytruant850

Dumbest way? OOOOOH boy strap in. So when I was maybe 11ish I attended a summer camp for the first fime in years. There was a cute CIT (counselor in training) there who was maybe 3 years older than me (it was just a typical kid crush). He was nice and we talked often as he helped with a lot of the universal tasks one of which was running the slip n slide.

The slip n slide wasnt your typical tarp on the flat ground that your run towards. Oh no. There was a MASSIVE hill with a humongous staircase. When i say it was huge Im talking easily 75-100 kids could stand in line for this thing with room to go. It was epic and still one of my favorite memories. Occassionally you could go down in groups if you had a CIT with you to link arms with.

So one day I see some kids are breaking a rule and instead of going up the stairs they were climbing up the other side of the hill and jumping on as a group went down grabbing onto the CIT and going down together. It seemed like fun and everyone was enjoying themselves. At the top of the slip n slide who would be manning it but my summer crush.

So I stupidly think this would be a great opprotunity to get his attention. So i clambered up the side and waited a good 5-10 minutes as the next group with a CIT made its way slowly through the line. Finally it was my chance. I thought that when i jumped on it would show how fun I could be. I was known as the goody two shoes. Lets break a rule!

So CIT and kids sit down get sprayed with the hose and push off. So as they pass I give a jump that to this day I cringe at because what the hell was I actually thinking i would accomplish? No running headstart. I wasnt even fully on my feet. I was on one knee, and pushed off with the other.

Welp I missed entirely but still got enough water that I made it down the slide. But i felt a bump along the way. Something that will forever stick with me despite being inconspicuous otherwise.I get to the bottom and the other kids are piling on top of the other CIT as hes play screaming maybe 7-10 feet away when suddenly I feel pain.

And then i notice theres blood EVERYWHERE. Im freaking out and screaming for help and no one can hear me above the squeals of the other kids. Then FINALLY my crush notices the pool of blood at the bottom of the slide and (this is another detail that will forever stick with me) he came down the slide in a surfer esq pose.

I remember thinking he looked so cool coming to my rescue like that. (Ooooh the cringe). The other CIT takes notice too and quickly comes to my aid. By this point im covered in my own blood and no one could tell immediately where it was coming from or how it happened. Just that this preteen looks like shes from a horror movie.

Now for the mortifying bit - my crush leaned down to carry me to the office, only to realize *he couldnt lift me*. I died inside. Looking back I wasnt a fat kid by any means but in that moment i felt the weight of the world in my stomach. How could he not lift me? Oh god why did he have to try? Cant the earth swallow me up now?

They help me stand up but we quickly learn I cant walk properly as it turns out Id cut my heel nearly clean off. It was still attached but barely. So since neither could carry me they help me limp my way to the office where we find more counselors who are equally freaked out that something like this happened.

They called my eggdonor who immediately got angry with me for calling asking if she REALLY had to come pick me up. She sure as hell changed her tune upon seeing my heel. Ended up getting stitches and some drug that made me scream about my american citizenship and the right to not be tortured (only memory after taking the drug. I dont even remember TAKING a drug).

Was on crutches for the next couple weeks and coulnt participate in a lot of camp activities making seeing my crush all that much more mortifying. Shout out to Alex who was my awkward preteen crush. Thanks for not making me feel worse about myself than I already did. It wouldve been so easy to make fun of me to my face and I wouldve wholeheartedly agreed but you were pretty cool.

But yeah. They later told me they found the blood leading up to a stake in the ground. Their best guess is that when i went down the slide on the wrong end I kicked up the tarp and exposed the stake just in time for it to slice my heel. I still have the scar and scar tissue from where they reattached it. Cringyist thing Ive ever done and will forever be my "awkward preteen highlight". Lmao.

Username: Ellie_Loves_

Corn. Let me explain. When I was like 18, me and some buddies went to this fall festival thing in my town. We got pretty drunk beforehand, so when we got there, I was pretty fucking into it.

We decided to do this Corn maze that they had set up. Now this Corn maze was fucking huge. Like little kids aren't allowed in it without a parent, because they would probably die or something. Now I'm not some idiot kid, so I'm thinking I have this Corn maze in the bag.

In fact, to give the Corn maze a chance, me and the boys decide to get a little high beforehand, to even out the playing field. So, we find a spot to burn one down and then get in line for the maze. Now while I'm standing in line, I hear the people in front of me really hyping this maze up.

This freaks me out a little bit cus I'm high, so I start trying to calm myself down. In my head I'm thinking, "Pfft this maze can't be that bad, I mean it's made of Corn. Everyone knows that Corn is a bitch vegetable! It can come in a can, like a dickhead. Fuck Corn!"

I am no longer scared. In fact, being that perfect combination of drunk and high, I have chosen to disavow Corn entirely. I no longer want to just get through the maze, I want the record time. I want to embarrass Corn. So, once I get to the front of the line and get the green light to head in, I take off. I'm full sprint through this maze.

In my mind I'm making great time, and even though I don't actually know what the record is, I know I'm on pace to beat it, and Corn will have to rue the day it tried to face me. Now, at some point my phone falls out of my pocket. I of course don't notice, as the only thing I'm thinking is how big of an idiot Corn is. I also pretty quickly run out of steam, so I decide to take a break and gather my wits.

This is when I notice that there is no one around me any more. Where once you could hear the laughing of the maze runners as they searched for escape, there was now silence. The only sound was that of Corn's stalks brushing against each other in the wind, seemingly whispering "You're a bitch".

Being the level-headed individual that I am, I did not panic. I continued my search for the exit. While I no longer had my phone, thus not able to keep track of time, I was able to track the position of the moon in the sky and calculated that I had been in there for 11 days.

Panic began to set in. I now realized the position I was in. My hubris had sealed my fate and I was naive to think I could take on Corn. I began sprinting through the walls of the maze. Being pelted by stalks, I realized that Corn would not be defied so easily. I began ripping down the cobs and tearing them open in a last ditch effort to save myself from impending doom.

That was when I felt an intense heat coming from my right hand. The Corn, hell bent on seeing me die in that maze, had sliced my hand open with one of its husks, and I now had a steady stream of blood pouring out of my hand.

I tried wiping my hand on my shirt, but the blood would not stop pouring out of my hand, as it began dripping onto my pants as well. I was now covered in blood and seemingly destined to die lost in that corn maze.

I ran and I ran for what seemed like an eternity. I had given up hope of escaping that Corn maze. In what I believed to be my last moments on earth, I cursed my foolishness. I acknowledged Corn as my superior, and accepted that I deserved what was coming.

Out of breath and without any more blood in my body, I had given up hope, and as my last act, I cried out, "I'M SORRY, CORN". Then a bright light. I emerged from the maze. Corn had spared me. My acknowledgement, had granted me Corn's forgiveness and I was allowed to live on.

My happiness was immeasurable, and I stood there for a few moments in disbelief that I was still alive. As a rush of relief came over me, I experienced peace. Nothing existed in that moment. Not the sights of the festival that had come back into view, nor the sounds of little children that had just taken off screaming as they had just witnessed a strange man come barreling out of the corn maze, screaming and covered in blood. Pure Bliss.

I was taken to hospital for stitches, and was left with a scar across my hand as a constant reminder of my place in the world. To all those who have taken the time to read my story, let it be a warning to you. In Cob we Trust.

Username: nut_s_a_c_k

I needed help moving from San Antonio to Charlotte, and flew in my friend in to help. He came a few days early, and we decided to go to SXSW (I was only in SA for a year and had never been) not fully expecting free open bars everywhere. If I had known, this would NOT have been my choice. My friend was in his late 30s, but still drank like he was in college. His energy is contagious, so I begin matching him.

We end up at a bar that exits to the back with a large outdoor patio. We take a couple more Jäger Bombs, and by this point we are both at a level of intoxication expected at a bachelor party for a 21yo at 2am... but it’s 3pm and there is no end in sight.

In the center of the patio there is a small empty stage, that comes about waste high for me, but my friend is 6’3” and built similar to John Cena, so he is able to comfortably sit on the right edge. I stand facing him, and to my left there is a table with a guy and a girl talking, that I have exchanged a couple of pleasantries with.

My friend starts making fun of the dude for wearing skinny jeans (this was 2012) and being obnoxious and loud. I start telling him to stop and he gets louder, until I say “at least he isn’t wearing ripped cargo jeans” and lean forward to give a push on his shoulder (imagine John Cena being pushed by a shorter Seth Rogan).

Only instead of a slight push, I somehow become Ironman and watch in horror as my friend slams back against the stage, his head making a loud thud. I let out a shocked laugh that I cut short, and immediately brace myself and start an apology as he stands up. I know that this isn’t going to end well.

He pushes me as hard as he can and I rotate 180 degrees as I flythrough the air, planting eyesocket-first on a water spicket. I stand up, deciding to defuse the situation, and look at the skinny jeans couple and my friend returning my stare with slacked jaws. “You are going to need to go to the hospital” skinny jeans dude says, and I say “I’m fine it doesn’t hurt.”

My friends drunk ass comes over with a few napkins and starts dabbing at my eye. “Uhh... yeah you might need stitches.” I March back toward a Guinness mirror I spot by the back door, now feeling very tipsy. “Let me see.” As I pass, skinny jeans guy’s girl says “wait, you may not want to look at it” but it is already too late.

My eyebrow had split into a a splayed wound the size of the eye below it. I stare, processing what I should do, the blood now pouring into my eye. I walked through the bar like a stumbling gunshot victim and a few steps from the bar I find an ambulance waiting (Austin must be used to this.)

I go to the hospital and the doctor walks in, and I’m tipsy as hell with the pain-level smiley face chart telling him “this should be me!” pointing to the number one smiley which indicates happy, “but now I’m this guy!!” And dramatically stab at the number 10 agony face, only I miss repeatedly until my 4th or 5th jab lands, my finger staying there and settle into a slump after seeing the doctor just role his eyes, and stay like that for a few minutes.

“So when do I get stiches?” I ask. He just looks at me like I’m an idiot and says “I’m already done.... no don’t touch it! Here let’s put this on...” and I leave the hospital with what I’m convinced now was maxi pad. My friend almost gets arrested by US Marshals for mooning the state capital. We then wait until the morning to drive back to San Antonio, my hang over zoning me out until I realize I’ve somehow missed my exit and are at the Mexico Border.

I turn around to San Antonio and arrive at 9am, we pack the uhaul rental trailer with my bedroom stuff, and head to North Carolina. I drive the whole way, as my friend is horrified when the trailer causes the SUV to shimmy, so basically there was absolutely no point in flying him out.

When I get to Charlotte, I remove the maxi pad from my eye, and promptly purchase a pirate patch. I may or may not say Arrrrrrr Matey one too many times during it’s duration. And that is the story of how I achieved my ever so droopy left eyelid.

Username: breezy83

Gather up kids, this is how I met your mother. Was dating my wife at the time who lived with her parents in a 2 bedroom apartment on the second floor (important detail). Neither her or my parents knew we were dating because we were just keeping it low-key.

Her parents are your typical conservative weed hating boomers and of course, as an act of rebellion she wanted to smoke weed at their house. I show up with my little pipe and grinder and some weed feeling like Mr High Times over here. Their apartment had a shared balcony with sliding doors - one entrance from her room, the other from the dining room.

So of course, she steps out on the balcony and leaves the door open. Mr High Times high ass closes the door all the way and hears a little click. Ignores and we continue to smoke weed on the balcony and just kicking it.

As we're wrapping up to head back inside - door is locked. The metal bar that keeps you from pulling the door open fell over and locked us out. Check the other door, other door is locked too. Fuck. Screwed. We saw a kid walking downstairs and ask him to try entering from the main door and unlock us from the balcony. Kid tries, front door is locked. FUCK.

Mr High Time puts his pipe in his back pocket and comes up with a great idea to try and slide open the locked window but there's a net screwed on over it. Can't let the parents know about this shitshow huh. Girlfriend suggests to use the pin on my leath watch strap to unscrew the net part. Brilliant idea! Works like a charm. We got this figured out.

Try pulling the window, it's stuck from not being open in a decade but there's hope! Mr High Time pulls the window with one hand and puts his other hand on the glass to push the window open. BAM! Glass shatters and my hand is inside the window. Pull out my hand and see a gash right on the front of my wrist. I can literally see bone, blood gushing out. Glass and blood everywhere.

Girlfriend freaks the fuck out thinking I'm about to die bleeding out on her balcony (possibly true). Tries to jump in through the broken window. Mr High Time uses is already bloody hand to break off the remainder glass so girlfriend can climb through. She does, open the balcony. At this point I'm just waiting on her to call 911 and an ambulance but no, she found her neighbor who was kind enough to drive me and my bloody ass to the ER.

Watching the puddle of blood collecting on my arm in the car, we go to 2 wrong places thinking there was an ER there. Feel my consciousness fading, my girlfriend legit thinks I'm about to die. She calls my mom from my phone so I should talk to her at least once in case I die. So legit as I'm going, tell my mom I got hurt, need a couple stitches, going to the hospital - no details. She calls my friends, lets them know where we're going etc.

Get to the ER, losing enough blood that at this point nothing hurts but things are just funny. Ask the nurse, "Does it look bad?" As my wrist bone sticks out of my hand. Nurse says "don't look at it." LMAO

My friends trickle in as the doctor is stopping the bleeding and injecting me with painkillers. They put me on a wheelchair and take my hand for x-rays to see where all the glass is. My best friend got in around that time so the nurse let him push my chair to the x-ray room.

As I'm getting my x-ray I realize THE WEED BOWL IS STILL IN MY POCKET. I whisper it to my friend as the nurse is finishing up with the x-ray, "Yo I have a bowl in my back pocket. Take it out". He looks at me eyes wide and we both start cracking up. As she's walking us back to the operating room, I tilt on one side on the wheelchair so my friend quickly grabs it from my ass pocket and tucks it in his.

Turns out I cut a vein, millimeters away from my artery. Got 7 stitches on my vein, 27 on the skin above it, another 7 under my fingers and another 3 on the side of my hand. I step outside after getting stitches, and see who else but my mom standing there with my girlfriend...and kids, that's how I met your mother.

Username: Hammer94

Let me tell you a tale. As a young kid in my early teens during summer at the countryside I would spend all days climbing the elven tree mountains, jumping across the fields of hay boulders, throwing magic rocks in a cursed pond, crafting bows and other weapons with everwood sticks and unicorn hair strings, or whacking evil weeds with my trusty stick-sword.

In short, doing all the wondrous and amazing deeds that a great young adventurer, on the quest to save the world, had to do. One day after my trusty stick-sword broke on the scales of an infamous rubber-legged steel dragon I went out on a journey to find a new mythical weapon. I soon located a great manawood branch from the world brush Shrubdrasil in the forbidden forest that my well trained eye estimated to be a legendary grade material with the makings for the finest stick-sword of all.

A new Excaliwood was about to be born! Using my renowned strength I ripped the long branch out and made my way to the nearby village. There I procured a small blade from a local farmer, who insisted on being called Uncle, which I took to my back-yard smithy to begin my handiwork. The branch was fine and sturdy, but also elastic enough that it would not break easily.

But alas, it also had many smaller branches growing radially out of it. That was no good, a fine sword must be sharp and smooth to strike down all my foes. So I grabbed the manawood branch mid-length and began chopping the smaller branches off from the top using the knife. It was only once I saw red that I realised the folly of my actions.

I had swung the knife blade down too hard and it went past the branch it was cutting all the way to my pointing finger holding the stick. I was puzzled initially. My mighty body had been through many a battle, and I have grown too strong to be injured by a regular knife. But then I realized, in the hands of a powerful adventurer such as myself, even a small and dull knife could pierce dragonscale itself!

As I realised I've cut my skin to the very bone a feeling began flowing through my body. A feeling I have almost forgotten after my many months of travel. It was not often that I would feel pain, but this time it rushed in with great force.

'It really hurts. As expected of my own attacks!' I thought to myself. As I grabbed my bleeding finger my mind began racing. Where do I seek aid? The farmer's house? I decided against it, lest he withhold my right to use the knife he owned. After a moment of thought I decided to run into the nearby house where a wrinkly old shamaness lived.

I was currently lodging at her home, as she offered food and utilities for the measly fee of defeating a small bunch of prickleweeds infesting her yard. She was a peculiar one, old but wise, yet very strange. She would chant her prayers on most days to her deities from foreign lands in an old tongue much forgotten in the current days, and insisted on being referred to as Grandma.

I knew she was well trained in healing techniques, and wound treatment. But I hesitated. Her old ways were much too barbaric for an adventurer like me. I was used to the finest medics and healers that could be found in the city where I lived before setting off on my great journey. But I decided to reign in my fears and go face her.

After all, she was the only one who could help me at that point. And help me she did. A bandage was fitted and the bleeding stopped, and soon enough I was ready to set off for my quest once more.And that is the tale of how I have obtained a fine battle scar on my finger, a testament to my great adventures and my role in the creation of the sword of legends.

I have also greatly refined my crafting practices, to always make sure to hold above where I chop, and never below. Use my wisdom, young ones.

Username: OtherwiseInclined

So I had just finished repairing the fuselage and tail of a nitro powered model airplane that I bought wrecked. I was super excited to have it move under its own power, so I decided that THAT DAY simply had to have the thing run and taxi down the sidewalk (I still hadn't built a new wing). Oh, I'm at the time and living sort of parent-less as my mother died a year prior and the my father wasn't in the picture so I just ended up on my own and staying at my older sisters house.

Off I go to the hobby shop. I arrive as the owner is locking the door, and I beg to just sell me a new prop super fast, I have cash, keep the change, and I know exactly the one I need. He obliges. In and out fast, now jump on I-95 and head to my friends house who had some fuel.

Driving down the highway suddenly a bunch of police are stopping traffic, then a few fire trucks show up and block the road. I'm like the 2nd car in line, and I-95 in south Florida is now closed so theres a huge amount of traffic behind... I'm stuck until it opens.

We knew it was serious when the helicopter landed on the road right in front of my car and left quickly. A car had hit the bridge pillars at huge speed amd was torn in half. We were there into the night before finally being let go and onward to friends house.

Of course being 17 and stupid as well as determined, I decided that it being almost midnight was still a perfectly good time to fire this airplane up and have at it. I figured since it hadn't run in a while it would probably take a bit of throttle to get it going, so I set it at like 1/3rd throttle and set the remote down, then grab the electric starter. Friend is holding the tail in case it tries to drive away when it fires up.

Plug the glow plug heater on, hit the button on the electric starter, and vroom instantly she fires up and is fucking screaming. I reach for the remote to drop it to an idle, but simultaneously Friend underestimates the amount of thrust and the plane inches forward a bit. I feel a little brrrrrrrp on the thump, but it didn't hurt so I didn't think anything of it.

As I stand up holding the remote I'm about to tell friend to let go when I notice my arm is strangely warm suddenly. That's when I see the blood literally streaming down my arm and running off my elbow. Then I notice that the two white cars we were between had a perfect circle of blood going down one door, across the driveway, and up the other cars door.

Fuck. Panik. OK, need to turn off airplane. How? Panik. How? Oh! I'll stop the propeller with my foot! Wait, fuck, no don't do that. OK. Chill. OK, choke the carburetor with other, still attached, thumb. OK. Solved. Now what?

Let's sit down and decide if we need to go to the hospital. Friend brings water, I rinse blood off but it comes back kinda fast. Bend thumb to see better. OH, now I realize my thumb has stopped working. I can bend it, but I can't unbend it. So I've cut my thumb through the tendon and down into the bone right between the first and second joint. It's still chilling there though so that's good, but I think we should see a professional about this.

OK friend, let's go. Friend reminds me he still has a permit and can't drive without an adult. Fuck that, let's go. Next problem, friend doesn't drive stick. OK I don't also need a wrecked clutch. Friend, go get your mother. Mother come sinto garage, says "I have work in the morning, fuck this im going to bed".

Nono, lady look, hospital now. It took a bit, but finally ok. She drops me off and leaves. 20 years later I still have a scar, and I can still feel the bump where the tendon was stitched back together.

Username: jcforbes

When I was 4 or 5, I loved climbing trees. Usually with some supervision, however my single mother was at work so my sisters (aged 6 and 2) and I were being babysat by the neighbor. Anyway, in my back yard there was a giant hill with a lot of trees at the top and a bit of clearing where we had a swing and a Treehouse my father built years earlier for my third, oldest sister (15 years old and off at a friends at the time) before he left for Mexico after my parents divorce.

Anyways, on this day my 6y.o. sister and I were playing up on the hill on the swing and I had decided to climb up to the Treehouse. Well, Although I was good at climbing trees, I had never attempted going all the way up to the height of the treehouse.

I got pretty high, it’s hard to recall how high since my perspective was much different than it is now and we moved out of that house a few years later. Either way, it was higher than I was used to and I started panicking and wasn’t sure how to climb down due to my anxiety.

So I did what any younger brother would do and asked my 1 year older, much more life experienced sister what I should do. Climb down slowly? No. Have her guide me down, branch by branch? No. So what was her suggestion?

“Just jump down! You’ll be okay!” So I did. Now, I’m not sure who here remembers that scene from Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey where they get cast down into Hell and they fall through a black void for a very, VERY, long time. That’s basically what it felt like jumping down from the tree.

And while I didn’t break any bones, there was a very old , rusty nail sticking out that had at one time held on one of the now missing pseudo-ladder rungs that led up to the Treehouse that my right arm got scraped open by during my decent.

So I landed. I was surprised that I didn’t feel any pain from hitting the ground or breaking anything (actually, I was 5. I didn’t think anything really, until...) but my sister had a look of horror on her face and when I looked over at what she was staring at, I saw for the first time what I’d come to know as pus coming out of my arm along with a significant amount of blood.

I basically freaked out and started screaming and crying. I think I remember my sister screaming too, but I can’t quite remember as she basically took off full speed down the hill to get Carol, our babysitter. Now, I am no body-shamer or have any ill will towards anyone who suffers from obesity.

But Carol was quite overweight and I only mention it because one of my vague memories of that day that still sticks out vividly is of her slowly trying to climb the hill which was unfortunately very difficult for her. I remember noticing how long it took because I kept freaking out over the excessive amount of blood (and pus!) continuing to escape my arm.

Eventually, the ambulance was called and I remember riding in the back, somewhat excited about that aspect, but still very upset. One of the EMT guys was trying to distract me and get me to me tough and asked me who my favorite tough guy was. Being the mid-eighties it was a toss up between Hulk Hogan and who I answered him with:
“Mr. T.”

The paramedics got me to toughen up and even giggle a little when he started talking like him.
Anyways, long story ....well, very long, I ended up getting my first (but certainly not last) round of stitches in my right bicep. 7 I believe it was. The scar is still visible as I type this at 41 years old.

All from trusting my older sister to “just....JUMP! “ Yep...a tough lesson learned that day I have yet to forget, is that just because my sister was older (not by much. We are Irish twins) she certainly isn’t automatically smarter and I have always been more of the elder sibling.

Username: Protean_Ghost

I was 13 or 14, and then in shop class in Jr. High, 8th grade I think. In our school, Shop consisted of three different classes, we got Drafting(old school pencil and paper drafting), Metal shop, and Wood shop. Of the three, all I really cared about was wood shop. My grandfather had a shop of his own, m talking table saws , radial arm saw, drill press, sanders, grinders, every basic power tool except for a large I think. He and my dad could and did build so much I’ve never even tried.

Anyways, I was excited for wood shop most, as I figured that if I could prove myself in school, grandpa would let me work in his shop on stuff I wanted to make. Never mind that I had no idea what I wanted to make. We go through Drafting for weeks, so boring. Then Metal shop, and I made the worlds crappiest sheet metal tool box ever. But, finally we come to Wood shop. At least I have seen this stuff in action, used a hand saw, hammered a nail.

So we’re in Wood shop for maybe two days, and it’s all safety safety safety. I guess if your gonna hand kids that age those kinds of tools you want to minimize the danger, but I was rarin’ to go, and impatient, so after school that one fateful day I decided that after all my safety prep I could go into grandads shop and practice cutting some 2x4’s. Now, I made sure to do this when he wasn’t around, I of course didn’t want to get into trouble.

So there I am, cutting 2x4’s, and I’m doing great. Super safe, and clean cuts to boot. And then I heard it. Car doors slamming in the driveway. Had to be grandpa, couldn’t be anyone else. I was smart enough to have kept the windows and doors closed on the shop, but in a panic I realized that he had to be able to hear the table saw going. Even after turning it off it seemed as loud as a stampede to me. Anyone want to guess what happened next?

Super safe me, in a flash of brilliance, decides that I can place my put my fingers on the side of the blade, and slow it down, like a vinyl record, right? Easy, plus I won’t get caught in grandpa’s shop. Even better! So I reach out, and place my hand against the flat surface of the still spinning saw blade, where upon two things happened in extremely rapid succession. First, I learned just how fast you can burn your fingertips on rapidly spinning metal, and second, that the motion of that blade spinning will pull your hand forward, especially if you have no idea what your doing. Which I didn’t.

I did manage to slow the saw blade down of course, with the tip of left had index finger. The blade in motion pulled my hand forward and caught that finger and ripped it right open. To this day I don’t know how it was only that one finger. And boy if I thought I was panicking before, now it was worse.

I wrapped my finger tight in my T-shirt, and walked out of the shop, pretending like everything was fine. My grandpa even saw me, asked how I was. “Fine grandpa”, and I lit off for home. Wrapped my finger in gauze and band aids. I think I eventually told my mom that evening, and though it didn’t occur to me at the time, my grandfather must have cleaned up blood and never said a word to me about it.

I do know that I was never invited to work in his shop. I also, and this was the part that sucked at the time, relegated to working in the tools closet in Woodshop, checking in and out tools and such, since the shop teacher said I couldn’t use the equipment with one hand bandages like mine was.

To this day I look at the scar on my finger tip and wonder how I’d I not lose my hand, and how hard must my grandfather have laughed after it all. Love you grandpa, where ever you are.

Username: selfassuredcarnivore

I worked as an armed alarm response in beverly hills/hollywood area with a very successful security company. I would do vehicle patrol, respond to burglar alarms, deal with disturbance calls, clear inside of houses if someone thinks theres a unwanted person inside etc. Needless to say i was working for the 1% and to them I was the police in the community (their words not mine), so i do what can for their satisfaction for the company.

One day i just got to work and got an alarm call to the nicest house on the street which is actually two houses side by side on a hill with a 100 foot long drive from the giant automatic gates up to the home. I get there, step out of my patrol vehicle, punch in the access code to the gate and wait for them to slowly open.

The gate is now fully open and even before we I finish taking my first step, i hear a big dog, and i freeze. Quick note: on duty at the time i carried my 9mm Beretta, OC spray, X26 taser on my ballistic vest that is graded to stop all pistol calibers and even up to 12 gage buckshot, and a boot blade. WOOF WOOF, i see a big long haired shepherd looking dog turn the corner at the top of the driveway looking down at me telling me to get lost and showing its teeth.

I know what you’re all thinking, and no, i wasn’t attacked by it....but the german shepherd that is a trained guard dog that came from behind him did. While the long haired one was standing up top was just watching and barking, the german shepherd was walking his way down at me, barking even louder. I was fully anticipating that the gate would close any second, but my anticipation turned to hoping, then pleading, then begging, as the dog starting trotting, then running, then full sprinting at me downhill.

Then i did what you’re not supposed do do when a dog is chasing you. Ran. I almost made it on top of a porto potty in front of a house across the street, cuz i guess i thought i could climb it or something, Im 6’4” so why not i guess. He got my arm, and if he didnt have a cone around his neck he probably would have killed me. But 8 stitches later, and every employee in LA know what happened to me and playful banter of calling me milkbone and dog meat and chewtoy later and i have useful tips for you all...

You cant outrun a dog. If you are faces with an aggressive dog, stand tall and dont budge, look that fucker straight in the eyes and make sure it knows that YOU are the big dog in that fight, its will most likely snarl and snap at your ankles and try to intimidate you, it should keep the dog busy enough for the owner to get control of the dog or the dog will back down.

If its a trained guard dog AND you have a firearm on you, just know it might be better to protect yourself and put that dog down than find out what COULD happen to you. There will be legal hurdles, but in the end dogs are property and can be replaced. But know the laws where you live and be prepared for any situation.

If you have an aggressive dog, place signs on your property stating such. Its the law is some areas too. You dont want someone getting hurt and suing for massive settlements, or the alternative someone putting your dog down in defense THEN suing you for a settlement.

If you have an alarm system, and you know the sensors are faulty, and have trained guard dogs and have no signs stating such, and you know armed security will go on your property to check area, AND you pay a premium for free system repairs.....then call a technician and get the DAMN THING FIXED!! Dont kill your neighborhood patrol officer all for a stupid false alarm. That is all.....❤️

Username: PoliceOssifer

There’s one that instantly shoots to mind. Dumb is putting it lightly. I was 6 and my brother was 8. To this day I don’t know what possessed this kid to carry out this action, but i’ll put it down to an overly excited personality. Lemme set the scene.

I was in the kitchen attempting to wash a cup, struggling to reach the sink on my tippy toes, water spilling all the way down my floral vest top. I recall my mum being quite frustrated that day, scrambling around the stove top trying to prepare several meals at once and pissed off about something - DEFINITELY not paying attention to the sink area.

In comes the little shit (aka my brother) and immediately shows me this *cool* contraption he invented that day, this fat grin on his face. I still can’t get that expression out of my head. Did he comprehend the gravity of what he was about to do? Why so evil?

Anyway he had this old empty aluminium tin can stripped of its label in one hand, and a lighter in the other. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see how ferociously he lit the rim of the can, that sick grin still present - Eyes wide, tongue out in pure concentration.

He then proceeds to tell me to “Stay still, this won’t hurt a bit. It’ll only hurt if you move.” He kept bringing the rim of the can closer and closer to my arm, just below my shoulder. This child was adamant that any movement from myself will result in damage and not his next action. Like I couldn’t see the red hot smouldering embers of the lit can??

Mind you, i’m still trying to wash that damn cup at this point, while also slightly edging away and telling him to piss off. But 6 yr old me REALLY believed he wouldn't be so stupid, c’mon. Eventually the rim of the can made contact with my arm, and despite my initial cries failing to attract any attention - My blood-curdling scream did the trick.

My mum immediately rushed over, and she pretty much didn’t need an explanation. Just taking one glance at the crime scene was enough - Me clutching my shoulder and gasping for air...and the extreme look of guilt on my brother’s face while he stupidly held onto the can and lighter.

Now when i’ve told this next part to people in the past - There’s usually a divide in response, and I expect no less from the Reddit community. This moment is what cemented my mum as a top G in my eyes - That Equality must be established in all contexts.

Her eyes flashed with rage, the same type of red I saw in the rim of that can. She turned to him and said with perfect aggression “Ohh so you want to experiment on her? Well why don’t we test you too!” She snatched the can out of his hands, grabbed his arm and - For the second time that day, someone got burnt by a £0.50 baked beans tin.

Tit for tat. I guess what distracted me from my searing pain, was the look of utter horror on me mam’s face when she saw a scar forming on my brother’s arm, almost like she wasn’t expecting it.

So we all realised quite quickly that No, she’s not actually a child abuser, she just wanted to scare the bejeezus out of him. Worked a bit too well I suppose. Her guilt mirrored his when he burned me, and probably would have made herself the next candidate for a burn, if this was some kind of dark humour sketch.

Nearly two decades later, I still have the scar. My brother’s one isn’t so visible but still there and makes for a poignant trip down memory lane. But man, kids can be so dumb.

Username: Not-me-fam

When I was 18, I was really into WWF style professional wrestling. It was the 90s and there were these little independent promotions peppered around the country where people held local shows with a combination of local hopefuls and past-their-prime former televised talent.

A friend of mine was going to University in Ohio and called me up saying that there was a place that would let us go actually compete in a ring in front of a crowd, but they wouldn't pay us. We thought that sounded like an awesome deal. I drove something like 14 hours to get there, paid for the trip out of my own pocket, and slept on my friend's sofa.

When we went to the show, we were both assigned to one of their more established guys and told only the roughest of directions. "Match goes for six minutes. You lose." Then we got a little bit of time dinking around in the back to work out a spot or two, and learn how to take their finisher. My dude asked me if I was okay with bleeding.

I was 18 and stupid and thought this whole thing was a dream come true, so I told him I was totally into it. During the match, he slipped me a razor blade and I was supposed to nick this spot on my forehead, with the idea that it would deceptively look like a bigger cut, because the blood is pumping hard while you're being physically active and because it mixes with the sweat on your face and thins out to cover more area.

I poked myself with it in the spot that he showed me. I had never done it before though, so I didn't see any blood and I was afraid I did it wrong. I ended up poking myself in that same general spot three times before I started seeing blood. Then he finished me off. All things considered, it was a fun experience, but I didn't feel a need to come back, because it was expensive and time consuming and far away, and there were less than 50 people there watching.

Anyways, after the match, I asked them if I could have a video of it. This was before the days of cell phone cameras and stuff. They said they didn't have one. It was strictly a live show; no television so no need to record it. I was bummed. I wanted something to show off. So my buddy and I came up with the bright idea that we would stage something.

The dude who rented the auditorium told us we could mess around in the ring after the show and take some pictures. I wanted something cool that showed off my face full of blood, but I wasn't bleeding anymore, I had already cleaned up, and I wasn't particularly keen on cutting myself again. I got the bright idea to duck out down the road and buy some corn syrup and food coloring to make movie style blood, since we were only going to be taking some still pictures.

We posed for a couple of moves, like we were fighting each other, I put on my fake blood, we made it look pretty cool so we could show it off. The next day, I noticed these three brown spots on my forehead, each about the size of a pencil eraser. They didn't look like scabs, but they were right where I had poked myself with the razor. They didn't go away.

As it turns out, I had cut my skin, and then poured a colored dye directly over the cut, and it had seeped in just enough to give me three small dots of what is essentially an undefined tattoo, right on my forehead. I accidentally tattooed myself on the face.

Username: Goal-Express

I was 14, and one of my friends brought me along to a small party with people who didn’t go to our school. At this party I met a girl and we got along great. We traded phone numbers and started texting, and a month later I asked her out so we started “dating.” We went to a few movies and made out a lot over the next couple months, but mainly the relationship was just texting because she lived two towns over and obviously neither of us were old enough to drive.

As spring rolled around I started playing on a club team at school, and because I was no longer texting back instantly she began to go a little crazy and get possessive. Over the course of two months it went from “hey, where were you?” to “I know your seeing someone else.” At that point I was just over it, thinking I’m 14, this is getting a little crazy, and I decided to break up with her.

Now stupid 14 year old me made the error of telling this girl “things are getting a little crazy.” Fast forward a couple weeks, and school is done for the year and the friend who had introduced me to her in the first place was hosting a party where everyone in our grade was burning their schoolwork from the year. My friend knew I had broken up with the girl so he didn’t invite her.

Dumbass that he was, he did invite her friends and forget to tell them not to bring her. So she shows up, and starts asking around for me. Not many people at the party knew what was going on between us, so they direct her to a room in the house where I’m smoking weed with my friends. We are all high as fuck when this angry girl bursts in the room, sees me, and then starts screaming “you called me crazy, I’ll show you crazy” as she flails wildly one of those little swiss army knives.

I’m drunk and stoned off my ass, as are all my friends, so we just sit there like deer caught in the headlights. All of a sudden I feel a sting in my arm, look over and notice “hey, how’d the knife get in my arm?” At that point reality set in and my friends grab her and throw her out as I sit there bemused with a three inch gash on my bicep.

We all agree we can’t call the cops or an ambulance because that would lead to us all getting in trouble for being 14, drunk, and high. Now among this braintrust of individuals, four of us were Boy Scouts. Tragically, none of us were great at first aid and we started panicking a little bit, but then one guy makes the suggestion that since we have fire, why not just cauterize the wound.

So that guy goes into the house, grabs a butter knife, and bends it so it’s easy to press on the cut. He heats it in the bonfire, meanwhile another guy is cleaning the wound with disinfectant wipes from an old first aid kit in the bathroom. First guy comes in and just panics and slaps me in the arm with the tip of the knife giving me a burn on top of the cut.

They then realize cauterization was a terrible idea and just wrap it in bandages. For the rest of the summer I had to always wear a shirt because I didn’t want to explain why I had bandages on my arm.

Luckily it didn’t get infected, but to this day I have a thin scar on my bicep that is topped by a lump of scar tissue that I refer to as my third nipple. If I had just made up a story the next day and gotten stitches like a normal person, probably would have healed without issue.

Username: modoken1

In middle school I was trying to show off for my friends after gym and we had lockers with the diamond shape cut outs all over. I punched one of the lockers and 12 year old me felt hard until I looked down and I had split my middle knuckle down to the one. Immediately I turned sheet white and had to sit down, my first thought was "HOW DO I FIX THIS."

There was no way of fixing my hand because it was spilling blood everywhere and I went to my Gym coach and showed him. He Immediately shook his head at me and said "you punched a locker didn't you?" I nodded and he took me to the office.

Later when I went to the Dr. He told me I lacerated a tendon in my middle finger and had to get surgery. They put me in this crazy contraption where my fingers were all suspended by rubber bands and I had to stretch my tendons every hour of the day to keep them from freezing up on me and making a bigger knuckle than I already had. I went through physical therapy for 8 weeks and my mom would just look at me with such disappointment. Her punishment was to take me to the hospital gift shop time that I had therapy.

In high school I played rugby and each practice to get us warmed up we would play a game of tackle sharks and minnows. Being a freshman I was intimated by the older players and decided to half-ass try to tackle a senior and he got past me so I dove at his feet in hopes of tackling him. I missed horribly and I got up brushed myself off and walked back to the middle of the field but something felt really off.

I couldn't feel my middle finger (opposite hand as the one with the hacked up tendon). I look down and my finger was COMPLETELY side ways. As calm as I could i go over to my head coach, "coach, I have a problem," and I show him my finger and he turns pale and tells me to go to my other coach for assistance. After I showed my coach, I decide to take a picture.

He to take me to my athletic trainer who happened to be out that day. I call my dad to tell him what happened and his first response was "did you snap a picture?" This one didn't leave as bad of a scare but my middle knuckle on my finger is still a thicc boy 10 years later.

Senior year of rugby one dude is punching the smallest guy on the team as he is trying to hold him up for a maul. As a senior I had gotten my bearings and was very confident on the pitch. I was a flanker and essentially the big brother on the team.

I took it upon myself to take the guy out of the game for punching my mate. I go running full steam at him and I put my head down. HUGE MISTAKE seeing as how there is no protective equipment worn in rugby. As I'm running into this guy another teammate tackles him and spins him around.

My head and my teammates head collided hard as shit. All 4 of us went down and I couldn't get up. My eye brown hurt like nobody's business and I'm holding it out of instinct and as I pull my hand away from my eye I notice my hand is covered in blood.

They stop the game and everyone on the team is freaking out and i couldn't tell why until the team photographer snaps a picture and shows me. I had a 3cm gash over my left eye. Needless to say its not always a wise move to take your problems head on. I'm 27 and to this day I'm not sure how I survived all the dumb shit I've down over my life.

Username: drip_616

Ran into barbed wire fence while playing capture the flag. **Story:** Years ago I was playing a massive game of capture the flag with dozens of people I was in a training program with. The game had gone on for hours with no sign of anyone winning (each team literally had about 2-3 acres on which to hide their flag).

My team finally discovered where their flag was, but it was heavily guarded. A couple of us figured out that there was a creek that ran along the edge of the property and went pretty close by their flag. So we started creeping up the creek bed. We were discovered a couple times and member of our party would peel off and divert the chasers.

Finally, I was the last one and made it all the way down to where I was lined up with the flag. It was about 20-30 feet from the edge of the creek. Darkness was falling, but they still had 6-8 guards surrounding their flag so I didn't think there was any chance.

Just then about 10 people from my team come rushing in, yelling like wild things and attack their guards. Not really allowed but after hours and hours of playing, the rules become somewhat fluid. So I realize this is my chance. All the guards are being wrestled down and there's chaos everywhere, so I jump to my feet to rush forward and I get stopped... by something... I was so disoriented.

Why didn't I go forward? What just happened? And then I felt the trickles coming down my face from several places. I touch at it and look at my fingers - blood. As I reached out in front of me, my questions were answered. When I crawled up to the edge of the creek, in the fading light I didn't realize that a barbed wire fence was running across that area.

I felt my way along, still disoriented, and found the end of the fence was actually only 3 feet to the right of where I had run into it (that's some dumb luck.) A guard saw me and yelled out, "Hey there's someone over here!" As I tried to tell him what had just happened, he got tackled by my teammate. The surprise of the situation was wearing off and I saw that my opportunity at the flag was still there.

So I sprinted to it and grabbed it off of the tree it was hanging on. I got tackled by two guards as soon as I turned to run, but in a last ditch effort I threw the flag and one of my teammates picked it up. As I laid there under the guards, I could see my teammates running into the distance, back to our base to win the game.

Afterward, someone came over and said, "Hey did you say something happened to you."
"Ya I ran into a barbed wire fence over there."
"What?!" They said, almost in disbelief.
Several others turned to look at me. Someone with a flashlight shined it on my face.
"Oh no. You need to have that looked at."

So I made my way inside to a mirror. I had 6 places on my face that had been cut. A couple small scratches that were bleeding on my left cheek. One long cut that started above my right eye and then continued just below it (luckily didn't injure my eye).

And then my nose was flayed open with a large gap on the tip – that is where I still have a scar. Went to the hospital to get some butterfly bandages to hold it all together and all was well.

Username: thomasrye

RIGHT SO a couple years ago I worked at a summer camp. This kid asked me if I could whittle it down a bit so he could turn it into a sword. No Biggie, I thought, so I was sat on the porch of one of the cabins, whittling away, different child sat next to me watching.

Now, I would never say I'm a stupid man, but WOAH NELLY, WAS I STUPID THIS DAY.

So I was making good headway with the stick. But then, in my INFINITE FUCKING WISDOM, I decided to start shaving towards myself (here's a life lesson for you kids, always go away from you). So the knife got caught on a knot in the stick, and clever little me thought to yank the knife (oh no).

The knife gives way.
Right into my left thumb.
Without thinking, I pull the knife out of my thumb and start shaking my hand.

Now, bare in mind I've been working around children 24/7 for the past 2 months, so my brain is still in kid-mode, even after a debilitating accident.

So the knife gives into my thumb (*shudder*), and I shout, and I quote, "OH GOODNESS GRACIOUS, THAT HURT A FAIR AMOUNT!"
Yeah. I know.

So I stop shaking, grab my thumb, and look round. There's blood everywhere. On the ground. On the wall behind me. I think there was even blood on the child next to me. So I turn to this child and say to him "could you get a counselor? I'm just going to the bath house to deal with this."

So off I go to the bath house, trailing blood everywhere. It was only when I was washing it off underneath the cold tap that it REALLY started to sting. When I stopped the water I saw it was still bleeding (surprise, surprise). I quickly wrap my thumb in toilet paper, still trailing blood everywhere, grip it tight, and go back to the cabin and see the same child sat outside the cabin.

"Did you go and get a counselor?"
"OOOHHHH, was I meant to get a counselor?" says the child.
:/
"That's all right, my co counselor is just inside, I'll go get him."

So I go inside and my co counselor, picture, if you will, a very laid back man, like Shaggy Rogers, or a classic 70s stoner, just sat in the middle of the cabin, in a camping chair, watching the kids around him, slowly eati g a box of Cheez-Its.

"Hiya, I've just split my thumb open, and I'm gonna go to the nurse's station."
The only reaction?
*SHRUG* "...Okay"
*GOES BACK TO EATING CHEEZ-ITS*

So I walk through camp, leaving a scarlet trail as I go, finally making it to the nurse's station, where someone might actually react properly to a severe injury.

"Hiya, I think I've just split my thumb wide open."
"OH SHIT, GET INSIDE, QUICK!"
Finally, a reasonable reaction!

So I get inside and the nurse deals with melt injury. I look, vomit, faint, get patched up, and wake up 3 hours later with a tightly-bound thumb. And that, kids, is why you don't play with knives.

Username: Paddington_2

I got shot in the leg. At point blank. Nothing crazy, just a small handgun. (Forgive me for not knowing the exact model.) I was shooting with some friends. It was my second time in my life shooting firearms. I was never stupid with the firearms. Never pointed them at myself, or anyone else, loaded or not.

Guy who shot me (on accident) was an absolute idiot with guns (this was in 2017, and I was unaware just how dense this moron was.) I let a lot of it slide, for his brother is a good friend of mine, and very safe with weapons. Everyone there was. Except the one dumbass. Dude even pointed at his head and laughed when we first got there. Yea... that should've been my first, and last hint.

End of the day, we're packing up to leave, we're all at the tailgate of a truck. (This was a secluded campsite way back in the woods, with a jimmy rigged range. Should've been my second... and final hint.) I'm in the middle, dumbass is to my left, his brother to my right, and a few of my other friends are behind me.

Everyone is making sure the guns and ammo are safely secured, no one is fooling around. Even dumbass thought he wasn't fooling around. However, dumbass was pointing at the ground, shooting, at the ground, shoot. I'm assuming to empty the chamber and magazine, just incase. HOWEVER however, before I even realized what he was doing, right fucking next to me, I got a bullet in my leg.

At first I didn't think it hit me. I was walking, afraid, vibrating, somewhat in shock, and grateful he missed. He didn't miss. 3 CM away from my femoral artery the doctors said. Bullet went in my left thigh, flowered down my entire leg. It'll be there the rest of my life. Ever since then I've had fun time knee issues after the recovery.

Thanks a lot, dumbass. Mind you, I'm not angry about it anymore. Even though he tried to cover his own ass, and wanted our buddies to lie to the cops. Even though I covered his ass, without knowing he tried himself.

Do I hold a grudge? Nah... I'm pretty damn content in life now. Do I still chat with him? Hell no. He's a shit human being who was insanely selfish. Him, myself, and his brother were all truck drivers. All of us are CDL A operators. Well, I was, for about 4 years.

They just got into it maybe a few months before the accident. After recovery it was never quite the same, and I fucking hate automatics. To be quite honest, I was nearing my end in the field anyhow. You're either in it, or you're not. There isn't really a middle ground in that field. The money is nice for only so long.

ANYWHO... I've gotten into a different field of work since then. Tried driving after my recovery, just a ten speed drop and hook gig. I just couldn't do it anymore. Maybe... a blessing in disguise. Just a really shitty one that I could've done without lol. Life goes on, folks. Be thankful for everyday you're alive.

Username: tallpudding

When my little brother and I were very young, we were very into shurikens, throwing stars, and the like. And yes, I do mean very young (like he was 8 and I was 10) because we had older brothers and semi-absentee parents. In any case, we used to have tons of them, and we'd throw them into trees, walls, fences, and whatnot. This is important for later.

Separately, I also really liked frisbees. I used to try using them kind of like Captain America with his shield, trying to be perfect at aiming and bouncing them to hit multiple targets. Granted, any target after the first was far more often luck than skill, but did get decently good at single shots, and I would almost never miss the rebound catch.

Now, about frisbees, there's something you may not know, which is that if you throw a frisbee hard enough, it can sometimes do this weird thing where instead of flying towards the target, it will instead curve and fly straight upwards, until it hits the apex and then speeds straight back down. I don't know why it does this, but it does, and this is crucial to the story. So, these three mini-stories are the lead up to the dumbest way to get a scar.

Now, my dad was a heavy coffee drinker, and by that I mean he drank at least two and a half to three pots a day. But he was not a connoisseur by any means, and so he would get these large cans of preground Chock-o-Nuts coffee.

This was back before they started using that weird foil plastic, so to open the can, you'd use a can opener - which would leave you with a 7 inch metal disk with sharp edges that would just be thrown away. Perhaps some of you already see where this is going.

So my little brother and I saw this, and we had an argument. I thought it would fly more like a frisbee, and he thought it would fly more like a throwing star. So we took the disk and tested it out. I went first. I chucked it straight forward, hard as I could, and it did the whole flying straight up thing like frisbees do, to which I gleefully taunted, "Told you" and moved forward to catch it.

But I didn't catch it. As I said, I would almost never miss, and this is one time I missed. I assume the speed was different than a normal frisbee, it being lighter, or maybe the metal changed the aerodynamics. All I know is that I didn't catch it. But I also didn't miss, as when I went to grab it, the metal disk caught my left pinky and opened a good two-inch gash across it.

And, given that we weren't going to tell our parents what we did, I went home, bandaged the heck out of it, told my dad I just cut myself a little, and that I was fine. Obviously, it healed, but with a long scar across my pinky. It's now thinner, but still a good inch and a half.

Username: PatrykBG

So I was cutting up green onions for a marinade I was making for some jerky. I was going a little fast and not paying attention and cut part of my finger off. I just and freaked out for a second but didn’t think it was that bad so I put it under a stream of Coker water from the tap in the sink for a second then wrapped a towel around it.

I then proceeded to look at the knife to see if there was blood but ended up seeing the piece of my finger that was left behind. Now when this happens you are supposed put it put on ice or hell maybe even just put pressure on it and keep it over the wound so that they can be sown together. I panicked and threw it away in the trash can and didn’t tell anyone.

After seeing that I still didn’t believe it was that bad so I went to the back of my house to the first aid kit to grab what everyone grabs when they have a horrible wound on their hand,...that’s right I grabbed a band aid. But before I could put it on I looked down at the towel on my finger and there was now a sizable amount of blood on it and in that moment I realized that the cut on my finger is probably more than a cut.

I called for my dad and showed him and he said go run it under cold water while he ran to the first aid kit because unlike me he knew it was bad right away. This time I looked at it as I ran it under the water and I could see that my finger was visibly misshapen from the chunk of skin missing accompanied by the bleeding so bad and fast that it was creating a light red stream to be visible even while running it under the water.

After this my dad spends awhile wrapping it up properly (basically cleaned out with a lot of gauze and a finger condom) but I never mention that I threw away part of my finger so he never takes me to the hospital or urgent care. The next day when I wake up, it’s still bleeding.

I tell my dad but he just sends me to school anyways and decided that we should rewrap it which is the worst idea since it removes any scab that might have been forming and it was damn painful. I go to school and it bleeds through the gauze again so I tell my teacher who sends me to the nurse who calls my mom and I then leave to go to urgent care.

The doctor there asked if I still had the part missing and I said i threw it away and he stood there just not knowing what to say and proceeded to tell me that he never had a patient just so casually say that they did something that dumb.

Since they didn’t have the piece they couldn’t stitch anything so they put some gel foam on it and wrapped it gauze. Few weeks later the gel foam falls off and my finger is now permanently slightly misshapen. Luckily it can’t really be seen unless I compare my index fingers with each other.

Username: [deleted]

I almost always win this game because I was reckless, stupid, a dare devil, and I kind of wanted to get hurt because it was the only time I received any real parental attention. Also, I am the opposite of wise/street smart.

I never learned how to ride a bike. So when my little brother and I found a beat up old mountain bike in the trash, of course we were curious. It was missing the seat and the handlebars were stripped smooth and broken off at the ends. The tires were also kind of flat, but we didn't really know that at the time. It was also an adult bike and I was 8 or 9, he was 5 or 6.

I tried to ride the bike by sitting on the cross piece and trying to balance. My hands kept slipping off the broken bars. We decided it would be a good idea to fix that. So my brother helped me duct tape my hands to the metal bar. It was actually fairly effective on the nice flat street, so we decided to race down our favorite hill, me on the death bike, him in his plastic red and yellow kiddie car.

This hill was dangerous. It was steep and pocked with trees leading to a thick forest at the bottom. Sharp rocks jutted out in places. No one ever went back there, either. So if we had both been badly hurt, we probably wouldn't have been found quickly.

We loved this hill, though. We'd run up one side and kind of fling ourselves at the top, kind of a shitty somersault maneuver, and roll faster and faster to the bottom, giggling like idiots. It's a wonder I survived.

So we lugged the bike and the car up the hill along with snacks and duct tape to secure my hands. It's worth noting that we had never taken the car up there before. We hadn't needed another vehicle to race with before then.

I got on the bike, perched awkwardly on the cross bar, and my brother duct taped my hands to what remained of the handlebars. Then he hopped in his little car and I counted down...
*5,4,3,2,1 GO!*

It's a good thing he chickened out because I got badly hurt, as I am sure you could have guessed. The bike flipped almost immediately and dragged me, end over end, with it down the hill where we both collided with a tree, landing in a tangled heap of girl and machine at its base.

I was unconscious. My brother ran for help. He came back however long later with my mother. I remember hearing her scream for the first time in my life, and seeing her truly afraid.

I dislocated one shoulder that is a pain to this day. I broke a wrist, fractured my arm and ankle, and broke several ribs. I was a mess of bruises, scrapes, and torn skin. I needed almost 30 stitches and 3 casts, on top of yards and yards of bandages. I spent most of that summer on the couch, in a haze of pain medication and bored miserable.

Username: z0mbiegrl

I've got 3 scars on face for very dumb reasons. The first scar I got around 6 years old. Twas the night before Christmas and my twin brother Sean and I were preparing for Santa to bring us coal. Naturally, after having watched Home Alone countless times, we decided to set a trap for Mr. Santy Claus.

To catch him we decided to set our slick laminated books on the carpet around the fire place. He comes down the chimney takes a step off of the brick fireplace and BOOM he'd come crashing down. Solid plan all together. Skip forward to a Christmas cookie and fudge induced sugar rush featuring two 6 year old twins chasing one another around the house.

After sprinting full steam into the living room as if my life depends on it, I round the coffee table to find that out trap we laid works. I slip on the books and go forehead first into the fireplace. The rest of the night was spent in the emergency room where I received 10 stitches and did not catch Santa Claus. Now I forever have a scar above my right eyebrow

The next scar comes just the next summer after. We had a small concrete half basketball court in our back yard so my brother and I would ride our Tricycles on it. After returning from a grocery run, we managed to score iced sugar cookies, the best kind. We take them outside with us to play and being the bright child I was I decide to stand on the seat of my trike while I eat my cookie.

It was an amazing feat to witness until I end up chin first into the concrete. Welcome back to the emergency room, where I have my chin wound glued shut. I still have a small scar on the bottom of my chin that won't grow hair leaving a small space in my beard.

The final scar on my face is on the left side of my upper lip. Around the age of 10, Sean and I decide to jump from the stool into the cushions of the love seat. After hyping each other up after each jump I decide to try to dive head first into the back pillow.

I miss the pillow all together and go face first into the fabric covered wooden frame and force my tooth through my upper lip. Now part of my lip looks like it is permanently swollen because of the scar.

Username: sdiller02

I was on a vacation to the ardennes in Belgium with my family (father, mother, younger brother and younger sister) and another family that are good friends of us (father, mother and 2 children both the same age as my little brother and sister.

I was 10 years old at the time and it was in the winter. First night we slept there it got pretty damn cold. So the next morning my father lit the fireplace to crank up the heat in the bungalow we were staying in. Was a pretty chill morning, snow was falling. We enjoyed a nice breakfast and after eating our breakfast my parents and sister went out with the other family's mom to go do some groceries.

My room was located on the second floor and I decided to go play with some lego together with my little brother in my room. After a while it got really warm upstairs because all the heat from the fireplace was rising to the second floor.

In our bungalow there was a ceiling fan hanging near a balcony (indoors) that looked down onto the first floor. And as a 10 year old i decided it was a good idea to turn the fan on and set it to maximum speed. It created a nice and chill breeze and i was standing near the railing of the balcony enjoying the hell out of it.

At one point i kinda leaned over the balcony and looked down to the first floor. I hit my head against the metal ceiling fan and fractured my skull into tiny pieces.

The father of the other family was in total shock and didn't know what to do. We called my parents and it took them like 20 minutes to get home while I sat in the kitchen with a towel to stop the bleeding. At that time we didn't know how serious my injury was because it wasn't really visible. It was just a lot of blood coming from my head but not an amount that would make you call the ambulance.

After my parents arrived we didn't know where to find a hospital so we just drove around the neighbourhood till we found someone that could give us directions. Turned out I fractured my skull into 100's of tiny pieces and it took them 9 hours to get everything out and replace part of my skull with metal.

I found a video online that kind of demonstrates the same thing that happened to me. This might give a little better perspective on the story: [Here it is. SFW.] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9r8JEj1UdY)

Username: WdeBever

I have TWO scars from TWO stupid incidents. My first scar came from when I was around 8 years old. My mom and I lived in a trailer outside the city where everyone was spaced out and there were only dirt roads.

A friend wanted to trade Nintendo games with me and he lived a few blocks down the road from me. I don't remember what I traded him, but he gave me Double Dragon. In order to complete this trade I needed to bike over to his house.

I arrived at his house, swapped games and excitedly pedaled home as fast as my little legs could. My friend yelled out to me "don't go too fast down the hill!" I didn't heed his advice and I really should have. Soon after I was heading down this hilly dirt road at what felt like mach 1. The bike started shaking and I lost control.

My bike came out from under me and I soon found myself flying through the air, with game cartridge in hand. I landed soon after on both of my forearms, skidding along the dirt road. The game had loosed itself from my grip before impact and slid away on the rough ground as well. I recovered myself and the game and decided to walk my bike home the remainder of the way.

So now you have an 8 year old boy, walking his bike, gripping this grey plastic cartridge, with forearms that are covered in rocks, dirt, and dripping blood. I apparently looked like death, because a lady pulled up next me offering a ride. I told her I wasn't allowed to take rides from strangers. But she had a really good excuse to lure me into her car.

She replied, "but your bleeding pretty bad." I was sold. I accepted the ride with this good Samaritan, who thankfully wasn't a kidnapper or kiddie diddler. When I returned home, I startled my mother from her midday slumber. She had thought I had gotten into some fake blood and was joking about my injuries. But eventually she got up and tended to my wounds.

To this day I still have some road rash scars on my forearms. This event taught me some valuable life lessons. One, if you're bleeding, its ok to take rides from strangers. And two, heed the advice of friends, unless you don't mind having some awesome scars and scaring your mom to death.

As for my second scar. I was drunk. I held up a plastic chair above my head with one arm. It became unbalanced and fell on my face. Now I have a scar on my eyebrow that doesn't grow hair. Now THAT'S a stupid way to get a scar.

Username: AcidXero

I have three to share and they're all horribly dumb. The first is a quarter sized chunk of scar tissue behind the outside edge of my left knee. Ten year old me thought it would be fun to try and swing crooked on the swing set my dad built in the back yard.

Went a little too crooked, caught a gust of wind, and slammed my leg right on the corner of the wooden frame as I came down. Blood EVERYWHERE, clicking/grinding sensation in knee, but my brother was the only adult home at the time and had a "Eh, let's just throw some gauze on it" mentality. Had problems with that knee my whole life.

Second is a 2cm long fine line on my index finger. Fast forward to fifteen year old me. My girlfriend had broken up with me on Christmas afternoon via AOL instant messenger when I had gotten online to see how her day went.

I threw myself into putting together a miniature tank I had received that morning, trying to find solace in distraction, but was way *too* distracted to be carving up plastic pieces with a razor blade. Should have been using snips but wasn't thinking.

Pushed the blade hard with my thumb while holding the plastic bit with my index finger. Predictably the blade went right through the plastic and to the bone of my finger. Blood EVERYWHERE, but some super glue closed it right up.

The third, stupidest, and last is a small line mercifully hidden beneath my right eyebrow. Jump forward another few years and I'm seventeen, working for a company that delivers appliances. Good summer gig before college.

I start off working in the warehouse picking orders, and sometimes we switch which side the refrigerator hinge is on for the customer. I've recently gotten a fancy leatherman for my birthday, so I use it every time I can because it makes me feel cool.

The refrigerators have little plastic tabs covering the screw holes on the other side where the hinge goes for the switch, and sometimes they don't like to come out very easily. Me, not thinking about safety AT ALL, decides to wedge the knife from my leatherman under the tab to remove it. Defying all sense or reason, I pull the blade upwards toward my own face.

You can see where this is going. I should add that safety eyewear was not a thing anyone wore there. The tab gives way, and suddenly I'm holding the handle of my leatherman with the tip of the pointy end firmly driven into my eyebrow. Blood EVERYWHERE pouring down my face, and lucky to have not lost an eye. I'm a lot more cognizant of eye protection now.

Username: Blortash

Trying to cut potatoes with a huge, dull knife. I was about 15 or so, had just woken up and wanted to dice up some potatoes to cook into scrambled eggs. It must have been the weekend bc my dad was home and as he filled up his coffee he asked me if I wanted him to chop the potatoes (scrambled eggs and most breakfast foods were usually his domain). I don’t know what teenage determination came thru me but I assured him I had it handled.

I got through one or most of one potato before my knife got stuck in the middle. I started bearing down on it with more and more weight and well, I don’t remember the exact moment of noticing that I had cut into my left index finger.

But I remember that I cupped my right hand under it, not at all touching it and just?? Catching the blood for some reason?? In a super calm voice I called out “hey mom can you come here real quick?” And she called back to just give her a minute and i said something along the lines of “mm no I think you should come now actually”

So she comes into the kitchen and just starts screaming, which I guess was totally understandable considering that I’d done nothing to prepare her for the sight of me standing in the middle of the kitchen pretty much playing in my own blood.

She sort of bounced around rapid fire, half hyperventilating, and grabbed some paper towels and started actually trying to stop the bleeding, and I remember her half yelling at me that I needed to sit down and stay calm so I didn’t pass out, and I was really amused bc she was obviously freaking out wayyy more than me. By then my dad had came in and must have thought the same thing because he told her she should sit down too.

I think we got the bleeding staunched pretty well while they were deciding if I should go to the doctor to get it looked at and stitched or just try to glue it at home. We didn’t have health insurance so the cost was a concern.

They mentioned that glueing it might not let it heal as well and it might not have the same range of motion so I told them that I’d prefer to get stitches and my dad took me to one of those urgent care centers. I listened to music and tried not to freak out about the sensation of getting the stitches, or of being able to feel two halves of my finger rub against each other.

The worst part was that when I got home my mom had cleaned up the kitchen and thrown away all the potatoes so I couldn’t even have my potatoes and scrambled eggs that I had literally shed blood for!

Username: Thequeerestkidyoukno

I was 20. A whole ass adult. My friends and I used to party out in a spot off the highway in the desert. To get to where we’d have the fire you had to go over dirt bumps I guess you’d call them. Not road all loose dirt and these bumps were the size of a decent speed bump but very close together so the trucks were just constantly bouncing.

So we’d parked out closer to the highway because my car couldn’t make that drive and hitched a ride out. Once there we started drinking and realized we had left the “party favors” back at the car. We were in luck though because another friend had gotten into a big fight with her boyfriend and had hauled ass in her truck back toward the highway.

The boyfriend wasn’t happy about this and was going to follow her. So me and my dumbass best friend at that time were like perfect, he’s raging mad and ready to tear ass after her, it’s fate right? So we climb into THE BED of the truck and he floors it. We were holding on for dear life, and then came the bumps.

I swear at one point while I was up in the air I saw the earth below me before somehow landing back in the bed of the truck. Up and down a few times while we are screaming for him to slow down or hopefully stop. I think the hard thud of one of our bodies probably caught his attention but it felt like I was tossed around back there forever.

So he stops and gets out and we climb out of the bed checking ourselves over real good. I’m hurting but can’t pin point anything specific. Then my best friend notices my jacket is soaked in blood in some places in the back.

So we get it and my shirt off also covered in blood and we discover my back has been punctured multiple times by what we would later find out was broken glass from a beer bottle. They drive me back to the fire and to my boyfriend at the time, now father to my children.

He takes one look at my back and tries to go after the guy who had been driving. I stopped him, we pulled out his first aid kit and fucking used butterfly bandaids to close up my back after we cleaned it. Couldn’t risk going to the hospital and being arrested for underage drinking and so now I have quite a few gross meaty scars on my back.

To add: thought I was slick as shit and my mom and sister would never find out. Found out years later they didn’t know the story but knew I’d been cut pretty bad. Sister saw the bloody clothes and mom saw the healing wounds but neither said a word to me lmao

Username: Imnewhereyo30

Got a few of them one on the back of my head. When i was a baby i was hospitalised right after birth. Turns out i had only half a heart so i got rushed to surgery. Had to spent several days in hospital and at some point i had just been transfered or something. (can't quite remember.)

They had me put in a bed with tubes and infusions everywhere. At some point they put so many of those in my body my wrist just was completely done for and i now have a scar on the inside of it. But that wasn't the stupid one.

While laying in bed appearently one of those tubes went under my head. Been rolling arround on it the whole night and when everybody came to see me the next day there was a pretty big wound there.. needless to say that turned into a scar and hair still wont grow there. Luckely it is only really visible when i just got a haircut.

Other one i got when i was on vacation in france. It was on a camping where loads of people from my country come so as a kid making friend was quite easy. At some point i was swimming arround in the pool there when i met another kid. We played for a while and tossing a ball back and forth.

When at some point out of nowhere the kids mom comes rushing in into the pool. (pool was very shallow so running was no problem) as that kid i couldnt really run that fast since the water blocked me and i was kinda in shock. The lady came up to me picked me up by my shoulders and started yelling at me.

I felt an immense pain in my shoulders. Turns out she had her nail burried deep into my skin. After she yelled at me (to this day i still have no clue what she said because at that time i was only thinking about how to get away from this evil witch.)

She dropped me back in the water and i ran for it. Got to my mom and told the story. We went back and i pointed out the women to my mom. I don't exactly remember what happen afterward. But it left 4 pretty visible scars in my shoulders.

I'm not really bothered by any of these scars. Since the head is not that visible and the one on my chest is way worse anyway. When we go swimming my mom always asks me if im nit bothered by people starring at it. But at this point i dont even notice it any more. I grew up with it, so it never has been any different for me

Username: autocar66

It was the 3rd grade. Early September so it wasn't particularly hot outside but it wasn't quite cool either. Me and my best friend at the time were just kinda there hanging out wondering what we can do on this nice afternoon. We only had a few hours before we'd have to go in for dinner and homework so we needed to make it count.

A light bulb goes off. I don't remember which one of us but one of us has an idea. Let's get some scissors and cut grass! It's brilliant we're thinking. Eventually it turns into a game of war. A dandelion is determined to be the evil leader of the photosynthesis army. I pluck the dandelion so he can be executed.

I hold it him in front of me. Little did I know that he wouldn't be on the only casualty of this execution. My thumb was poking out a little bit too much. And then I cut halfway through the tip of my thumb. Didn't even feel it at first. Then my friend screamed and pointed at my hand and there was BLOOD. Lots of it. More than I've ever seen before or since.

I run up the hill screaming/crying with blood dripping everywhere. I ran into my garage since it was the closest door that led inside the house. Unfortunately for me my mom wasn't home and my dad was in the shower. I didn't want to make my dad mad that I hurt myself so I just grabbed a dirty white sock out of the laundry room and was holding it over my thumb trying to soak up the blood.

My friend had gone to back to his house to get his dad and he comes in and is trying to help me clean up. A bit later my dad gets out of the shower and sees the neighbor in the kitchen with me and a blood covered sock on my hand. He doesn't know what to do he just has a towel on at this point. My mom then gets home about a minute later to my dad standing on the porch yelling at her to come inside cuz I hurt myself and she's a nurse.

She using her brains rushes me to a minute clinic where they're able to clean and bandage my thumb. I could have gotten stitches and in hindsight probably should have. But the idea of having a needle go in my hand was scary so I just opted to let it heal naturally.

Nurse told my mom I was millimeters from cutting the nerve ending in my thumb and if I went any further into it I could have lost my thumb. Now my thumb has this weird scar on it where it isn't round on the end anymore but it has like an indent into it.

Username: Kordidk