Thursday, February 15, 2007
Some Sort Of Beginning
For one thing, he knew it wasn’t an accident. He could still see her soulless eyes looking back from the side mirror. She knew what she was doing. What she had done.
The memory of that afternoon was etched firmly in his memory. The pain; in his being. That he was alive seemed like proof that someone somewhere was having a laugh at his expense. It was unbearable and if he could, he would end it. The truth kept coming back like a counterfeit note. He was paralyzed and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
They told him to pray until something happened. To PUSH. And yet, how could he? He had lost all control of his faculties. It was infuriating that all he had was his mind. And yet what good was that?
He watched as the caretaker drew the curtains in his room. She asked him if she could get him something. He tried to speak, all that came out was a slight grunt. For all intents and purposes, that wasn’t too bad. Some couldn’t manage that much. Hell, some were dead. And yet, here he lay. A vegetable.
Memories came flooding back in torrents he had no control over. It was a bad place to be. Reminiscent to being rooted to the spot, the spot in this case being the line of fire. He let them come and go as they pleased. He had to. It was all he had left,
His mistress had left him. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t. Why would anyone stick around with someone in this state.
They said love conquers all, that it lasts forever. They lied. It was love that put him here.
At 3:45pm, George moved a finger.