In the 80s as a kid I had a strange mishap with a neighborhood kid just up the hill. We were playing in the woods and I had a pocketknife my grandfather had given me after a trip to Mexico.
My friend was being a jerk and started crapping on my mother and saying rude things about a woman that did not like him but was nice to everyone regardless. He wouldn’t stop and I felt intense rage. I jokingly swung the knife in the air and walked away. Just as I turned my back I heard him shouting.
It turned out I nicked off the top of his thumb while swaying the knife briefly in the air to make him stop. Blood was dripping everywhere and I had what was my first true panic attack at age 10. I panicked and got him to his house.
He yelled that it was me and that I cut him with a knife on purpose. His parents knowing I was the shy, quiet boy quickly assumed he hurt himself and blamed me. This happened because he was a troublemaker. I got away with that accidental mishap but often feel guilty in some regard despite his rude comments.
*Name is not required.