A touching tale brought to you by the letters C, I & A, and the numbers 9 & 11.
Over a week ago I was living my life as I normally would, riding the motorcycle which had caused so much previously, the same thing which would cause so much later on. Planning the last few minutes of my journey, I took a last minute exit to get off the motorway. This decision would have serious ramifications for the coming weeks. Heading into the last turn before it was clear sailing all the way back to the residence that I call home. Control was soon lost, throwing the body which I have, like a rag doll, on to the sidewalk. There are those that say the makings of an accident make time stand still. Could it be? Not for me. The event lasted even less time than it takes to put on a pair of underwear. Sprawled across the path, I got up, instantly hoping in vain that the bike had not been damaged. But this thought, like so many others were fruitless and proved to be wrong. However, it was not only the bike that was damaged. Physical pain was to become the friend that I would hold so close for so long afterwards, it was something I was going to be forced to get to know. The pain in which was mine was the worst I had ever felt in life, excluding that of emotional suffering, which in reality are two very different things. Physical pain you can get away from, eventually. Emotional pain will haunt you until the day you die, sure, you can try to hide it, but in the depths it is always there. In retrospect, had I been capable of doing so, I would of liked to have yelled ‘Verpiss Dich’ to that menace as I hit the crap out of it with a base ball bat, or took to it with a flame thrower. However, all the outward rage would not ease anything, nor would it make anything better. Besides, I do not think the insurance company would have been very happy about that.
In that room, white walls all around with only the faint sound of rustling beyond the curtain, thinking was the only thing that could be done along with writhing in pain. After a while however, being so overwhelmed with morphine, all one can do is contemplate what has happened, or better yet, what is going to happen.
In the days since the devastation, the human spirit has endeared itself upon me, and from all walks I have had people wishing me well to get better. The hope I hold from this, is that it is not out of pity. I want it to be genuine. And I hope the bitterness I hold from the past does not make me see that which isn’t true.
This time has also shown me that time is needed just to reflect and ease back into things. In conclusion, time will heal the physical damage, but not necessarily the emotional, this will be carried around in two large suitcases, plaid of course.
As for the bike… BURN IN HELL YOU BITCH!!!
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by Skunk
Bookmarks