It was around the afternoon when my older brother Max and I wanted to go play; we were at my Grandparent’s house. Out in the woods down by Cogan Station. The house is made of old wood; my Grandfather built it himself; and there was a driveway made of a bunch of rocks that led from the road not too far away. All the way up past the shop and garage to the house. There was a big clearing out front of the house where trees used to grow, the shop is a large rectangular metal building that my family likes to hang out at, there are a few more small metal buildings scattered around the property and about three or four creeks.  
My brother and I went out back of the shop next to a creek; then we went past an old wood bridge and into a small area where the foliage is sparser. The sun filtered through the tall trees and there was an old log that we used as a seat. Near the log was a dead tree stump, the bark was falling off and the wood was soft, a little-ways away from the log was a tree. This tree had a branch that bent over all the way to the ground; which was covered in sticks and dead pine needles; my siblings and I built a little hut thing on it one time but we never finished it. 
My brother was known for being trouble; and we didn’t know what to play, so when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife, I instantly wanted to play with it. Because I was younger than my brother, I wasn’t allowed to have a pocket knife of my own; and on rare occasion he would show me the beautiful blade. The knife was small, but it was still sharp, the silver blade just glowed tauntingly in the sun, and the black handle felt like leather when my brother let me hold it. I was excited, and my brother wanted to show me his knife throwing skills, so he went over to a spot in front of the tree stump nearby and threw his knife hard. The sharp blade stuck into the wood and when he went over to retrieve it, he had to yank it out. I had watched a few more times as he threw it and retrieved it, but I wanted to do it too. After about five more times he threw it, I finally let excitement take over. 
I went over to my brother and asked him a question, “Max, when can I have a turn?”, he looked at me with a puzzled look before handing me the knife, “Here.” was his reply. I went over to the spot where my brother kept throwing from, and threw the knife myself, I was young at that time and the knife hit the bottom of the stump. “Try again but go closer.” he told me and I stepped closer, when I threw it that time it hit the stump and stuck, I was happy that I did it and wanted to do more. But my brother wanted to play with his knife on his own, so I had to give it back and watch him have all the fun. After a few more throws it was my turn again, I threw it as hard as I could and watched proudly as it stuck to the bark. 
When I went over to get the knife, I noticed something red on the supposedly black handle, I looked at my hands thinking that maybe it was something I had that smeared on the handle. My hand that I had been throwing with had a deep cut right in the palm and it was bleeding profoundly, I ran over to my brother and told him, “What?!” he was scared that we would get in trouble if my Mom found out. “Go wash off the blood on the handle and your hands!” he told me, and I went over to the nearby creek to clean off the blood, the water was cold, but I had to get rid of the evidence. When I was done, I went back over to my brother and we left the area. 
I had to tell my Mom something because I wouldn’t be able to hide the cut, so my brother and I went up to my Mom and told her the untrue story of how we were innocently playing in the woods when I somehow cut my hand. My Mom surprisingly believed it but still scolded my brother for not being more watchful of me, we were happy that we didn’t get in much trouble, but we still had to tell her sometime. We just didn’t want to tell her the truth until we thought she was ready. 
It was years later, and after my brother Max had moved away, I finally told my mom the truth, she wasn’t happy that we lied, but since it was in the past, she forgave us quickly. I learned to never play with knives again, and I learned that years later after the incident.