It's nice to know someone cares
Disclaimer: I'm in a good mood. It's just that I felt like telling this story thats all. So I'll pass on the "Kington cheer up you've got a lot to be happy for! AS is ending tomorrow!" and all forms of cheering up messages.
Remembered this story while was watching a Beowulf trailer on youtube, while reading an sms and listening to the trailer's song.
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6.55 forward momentum disrupted. Alteration of course. Reflexes do all they can to avoid getting impaled.
Eye1
2 school girls. Tiled floor. Reverse lights of a Mercedes. Rear bumper.
No mobility. STAND. No mobility. STAND. Difficult. Things feel out of joint. STAND. And I rise.
Eye 1
Marble, peach coloured walls and ceiling, expensive wall fixtures, a feeling of a very wide open space: air currents an open glass door.
Wood, a hard surface, couch. I'm lying on a couch.
Eye 2
Hues of pink. Hues of red. Hues of fuscia. Panic. Pain. Confusion.
People are panicking around me. They're also confused as to what to do. And the red. My pain.
My head is muddled. I've been pumping natural painkillers for about 2 mins now. It's all a blur. I'm not sure whats happening. I can't focus.
They bring me water and I refuse it. I ask them to twist my torso. My spine is out of alignment. They twist me and I feel it pop. I settle into ease as the output increases again.
Someone speaks to me. Asking me for contact details. I focus enough to give some numbers. Then I settle in delirium. My wounds are swabbed with yellow water. I don't feel anything. Could be from the painkillers. Could be the nerves are damaged at the ends. I lose focus and I run on autopilot. A insanely complex automatic response system that requires no mental effort.
Eye 1
Transport. Limping. Blood rolling. Back seat of car. Blur outside world.
Going to the hospital.
Eye 1
Nurse. Doctor. Wheelchair. Cold air. Cold water. Steel basin. Antiseptic smell. Poor air current. Small room. Pink curtains.
Eye 2
Yellow. Purple. Maroon.
Humour laughter. Tending to my wounds. I can't move. Pain. And I sign some papers. And I lose concentration again.
Eye 1
Bed. Chair. Phone ringing. White table. Grey table. Light peach wall. Night sky. No stars. No moon.
I pick and it's my sister on the phone. We talk. I'm lucid. After I put the phone down, I'm fully aware of the pain. Or the strange lack of it. Could be the painkillers the doctors put in.
I'm shirtless cause of the sheer number of wounds. I have a pair of shorts on just for decency's sake. I examine them for the first time. Blood is flowing slowly from a few and I wipe the extras away. I struggle around the room because it's still difficult to stand. I turn on the aircond to chill the wounds.
In the chair. I dial a number. And my brain lets go of another wave of hormones.
Eye 1
Dark. 12:50 in black on a yellow digital dial. Immobile. Shapes in the dark.
Eye 2
Blue. Black. Red.
It's cold. I'm shirtless. There's no pillows. I'm lying on my bed. I can't move. There's a voice on the phone. The painkillers are fading...
We talk. In random circles. I tell the person I'm ok. We just talk about random things. How the room looks like. How are our families. Hows life as a much older person. Hows life as a younger person. Our age gap gives us something to talk about.
The painkillers quit at about 1. Sometimes I interrupt the conversation with sharp gasps for air as I struggle to deal with the pain assaulting me everywhere. It's everywhere. I'm wounded from head to toe.
We stay at the phone until 2. My friend has to get up early for tuition tomorrow. I reassure the fellow that I'll be fine. I won't be able to feel the pain in my sleep anyway.
That one conversation with my bud made me forget the pain for awhile. And in the dark even as I continue my struggle with the pain. The comfort of my friend's voice over the phone was enough to distract me. And remembering what we talked about distracted me long enough to fall asleep.
Next day I awoke and found myself stuck to the sheets. I ripped myself off the sheets. I washed the excess blood thats not part of the scabs. And went to school. I managed to get a friend to send me to the doctor again.
Even if I bled non-stop for 2 days. Even if recovery lasted nearly 2 months. It was great to have those 2 fellas. Maybe I never said it. But I don't think I can ever say it enough. Thanks guys!
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Video prowl!
Remembered this story while was watching a Beowulf trailer on youtube, while reading an sms and listening to the trailer's song.
----------------------------
6.55 forward momentum disrupted. Alteration of course. Reflexes do all they can to avoid getting impaled.
Eye1
2 school girls. Tiled floor. Reverse lights of a Mercedes. Rear bumper.
No mobility. STAND. No mobility. STAND. Difficult. Things feel out of joint. STAND. And I rise.
Eye 1
Marble, peach coloured walls and ceiling, expensive wall fixtures, a feeling of a very wide open space: air currents an open glass door.
Wood, a hard surface, couch. I'm lying on a couch.
Eye 2
Hues of pink. Hues of red. Hues of fuscia. Panic. Pain. Confusion.
People are panicking around me. They're also confused as to what to do. And the red. My pain.
My head is muddled. I've been pumping natural painkillers for about 2 mins now. It's all a blur. I'm not sure whats happening. I can't focus.
They bring me water and I refuse it. I ask them to twist my torso. My spine is out of alignment. They twist me and I feel it pop. I settle into ease as the output increases again.
Someone speaks to me. Asking me for contact details. I focus enough to give some numbers. Then I settle in delirium. My wounds are swabbed with yellow water. I don't feel anything. Could be from the painkillers. Could be the nerves are damaged at the ends. I lose focus and I run on autopilot. A insanely complex automatic response system that requires no mental effort.
Eye 1
Transport. Limping. Blood rolling. Back seat of car. Blur outside world.
Going to the hospital.
Eye 1
Nurse. Doctor. Wheelchair. Cold air. Cold water. Steel basin. Antiseptic smell. Poor air current. Small room. Pink curtains.
Eye 2
Yellow. Purple. Maroon.
Humour laughter. Tending to my wounds. I can't move. Pain. And I sign some papers. And I lose concentration again.
Eye 1
Bed. Chair. Phone ringing. White table. Grey table. Light peach wall. Night sky. No stars. No moon.
I pick and it's my sister on the phone. We talk. I'm lucid. After I put the phone down, I'm fully aware of the pain. Or the strange lack of it. Could be the painkillers the doctors put in.
I'm shirtless cause of the sheer number of wounds. I have a pair of shorts on just for decency's sake. I examine them for the first time. Blood is flowing slowly from a few and I wipe the extras away. I struggle around the room because it's still difficult to stand. I turn on the aircond to chill the wounds.
In the chair. I dial a number. And my brain lets go of another wave of hormones.
Eye 1
Dark. 12:50 in black on a yellow digital dial. Immobile. Shapes in the dark.
Eye 2
Blue. Black. Red.
It's cold. I'm shirtless. There's no pillows. I'm lying on my bed. I can't move. There's a voice on the phone. The painkillers are fading...
We talk. In random circles. I tell the person I'm ok. We just talk about random things. How the room looks like. How are our families. Hows life as a much older person. Hows life as a younger person. Our age gap gives us something to talk about.
The painkillers quit at about 1. Sometimes I interrupt the conversation with sharp gasps for air as I struggle to deal with the pain assaulting me everywhere. It's everywhere. I'm wounded from head to toe.
We stay at the phone until 2. My friend has to get up early for tuition tomorrow. I reassure the fellow that I'll be fine. I won't be able to feel the pain in my sleep anyway.
That one conversation with my bud made me forget the pain for awhile. And in the dark even as I continue my struggle with the pain. The comfort of my friend's voice over the phone was enough to distract me. And remembering what we talked about distracted me long enough to fall asleep.
Next day I awoke and found myself stuck to the sheets. I ripped myself off the sheets. I washed the excess blood thats not part of the scabs. And went to school. I managed to get a friend to send me to the doctor again.
Even if I bled non-stop for 2 days. Even if recovery lasted nearly 2 months. It was great to have those 2 fellas. Maybe I never said it. But I don't think I can ever say it enough. Thanks guys!
-----------------
Video prowl!
