After watching the movie of Zorro, I was deeply impressed by his mystery, bravery and integrity. Whenever the bad guys did evil things to the people, Zorro would appear in time, and help the people and punish the bad guys. The masked man wearing black cloak, black hat, and holding a sword in his right hand was reckoned as my hero when I was a five-years-old.

The role-playing of Zorro became the most popular and favourite game among me and my young buddies. I would put on my coat with only the top button fastened around my neck, shielding my arms under the coat, and the two sleeves dangling on the sides. I even tried to find a cowboy hat to go with it, but I failed. Never mind. I got the Zorro’s spirit all fixed up. With my grandma’s cane in hand, I would swing, stab, defend and attack. I would draw a big ‘Z’ as symbol of Zorro in the sand. There were even duels between two groups of Zorros held on the playground in the neighbourhood. One side was supposed to be the bad guys, and the winning of the game made me feel that I was the real Zorro and I could protect the weak and punish the bullies.

Unfortunately the role-playing game was ended by a serious accident. One evening, several children were dressed up as usual, and I was one of them. We were shouting and chasing one another up and down in the stairs. I rushed upstairs, and Sherry and Tom were running after me. At the moment Sherry’s finger tip touched my back, I tried so hard not being caught by them that I staggered and fell down. Since my arms were shielded under the cloak, it was impossible to stretch my hands out to touch the ground firstly and cushion my sudden fall-down. My head heavily stuck onto the edge of one stair. I was dizzy and felt warm water running down my face. I swept my face with left hand and raise it in front of my eyes. At the sight of my bloody fingers, I burst into loud crying. My pals were so shocked and screaming loudly that all our parents dashing out to check out what had happened. I was immediately sent to the hospital for medical treatment. Seven stitches were sewed on my wounded forehead, and a long bandage carefully wrapped around my head. Crying never stopped until I was taken home. With a band on my head for several months, I completely recovered from the injury. That night was the last time I played role of Zorro.

There is still a scar on my forehead, like the mark of Zorro. It reminded me not only the happy time when I was a Zorro, but also the serious injury. Now, I understand that to be a Zorro is not wearing like Zorro, but having a Zorro’s heart and behaving like Zorro.

(Writing homework, first and second paragraphs were polished by Alex)