My name is Qin, and I'm a kindergarten teacher. Teaching my little students fills my heart with joy — they're adorable, energetic, and endlessly curious.
One bright and sunny morning, I woke up, stretched, freshened up, made a simple breakfast, and got ready for work. Since my school is just a short walk away, I left home feeling calm and happy.
As I waited at the crosswalk for the green signal, I noticed a little girl holding a red balloon. Her mother stood beside her, distracted by a phone call. Suddenly, the balloon slipped from the child's hand and floated into the street. The girl, without thinking, ran after it. She didn't see the car speeding toward her.
My heart nearly stopped.
From across the road, I saw everything. Without hesitation, I sprinted forward. Just seconds before the car could hit her, I grabbed the child and pulled her to safety. The car screeched to a halt barely two inches away from us.
Her mother turned, dropped her phone, and rushed to her daughter, hugging her tightly and apologizing over and over. I only realized my hand was scratched and bleeding when she touched my arm and asked, "Are you okay?"
I looked down. Blood.
That was the moment everything went black.
I suffer from hemophobia — the moment I see blood, I faint. And I did.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed. My vision was blurry at first. I heard a voice and turned my head. A doctor sat nearby, filling a syringe.
"You're awake," he said, walking over.
I nodded weakly.
"Why did you faint?" he asked.
"I saw blood…" I whispered.
At that very moment, he injected something into my hand. I winced and screamed — I hate pain and injections more than anything. The world went black again.
I think it was anesthesia.