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It feels ridiculous to me, as I am airborne and fall rapidly towards what is undeniably going to be a painful experience, how much thought can go through one’s mind in such a short period of time, and I come to the conclusion that thought is independent of time, that what we think doesn’t utilize any amount of time. We just…think. The fact that I am thinking this as I fall is an example in itself, that I am not, hence, thinking, I have already thought.
I can sense that I have stopped falling, for I can no longer hear the rush of air brushing against my ear, or maybe at this present situation I have lost my hearing, but there is no other way for me to confirm. My eyes are closed and my skin seems to have ceased to feel, as if my whole body has numbed with the occurrence of me floating temporarily in air. I expect to feel pain, yet I feel nothing, just an unusual calmness; a curious sensation of nonexistence. Maybe this is death, maybe I am confused in a dream, or this whole chapter in my life is a delusion, maybe, maybe, maybe... That doesn’t seem to help me much.
The right side of my head explodes within, and I instantly know, I am absolutely sure that I am now, currently sprawled on the ground, resting on my right side, and as pain shoots itself with diligence through the rest of my body, I try to scream out but instead I just whimper. This is real, as real as life can be. And to make matters s***tier for me, for I assume that they are already s***ty, my eyes fling open, that is to say one eye, and I see a glimmering pool of blood horizontally aligned to my face, spilling on to the road from somewhere beyond my eyesight. My other eye, the right one, opens just a little, only a sliver, and I can only see red through it and I realize that it has been shadowed by the blood, and after trying to open it again, I come to the conclusion that my eyelid does not have sufficient strength, or is it force?, to lift itself over the amount of blood oozing on top of it.
I want to close my eye, for it hurts, kind of like brain-freeze, a sharp constant pain that vibrates within the constraints of the right side of my brain, but I can’t, or rather I don’t, because it seems too much effort to perform this simple task, to let my eyelids fall.
I sense a sudden feeling grip me, an inexplicable sensation that rises through me, this feeling of extreme desperation and helplessness, a daunting feeling of no control, and as I lay haphazardly on the ground with a crimson head, I realize that I can’t do anything. I am completely dependent on the forces surrounding me and what happens next is completely detached of my will.
Feet appear in my vision and I can see in my mind’s eye, an image that shoots through my head, a crowd surrounding my frail and helpless body, nodding and gasping and whispering and pointing, and yet doing nothing at all to help me, a motionless circle. And it dawns on me that what I have pictured is exactly how it is, exactly how people are, completely useless. It is a sad realization but I think it is true, for there is no such thing as a selfless act, and no act which can be used as an example of self-sacrifice. I am not a hypocrite, well, not as much as many; hence I don’t feel anger or loathing. I know that that is exactly how I would’ve behaved, and exactly how I have behaved in the past when passing a scene of accident and chaos, treating it something just to gawk at, thinking that others would take care of it.
A story comes to my mind at this, a childhood story that I had heard when I was nine or ten. This is a ridiculous time to be thinking of anecdotes but it’s just one of those things and it happens to all of us. As I recall the story in my head, in words, I realize that I have recalled it, that I have already thought of it. It is amusing. Funny how things turn up.
I don’t recall all the details, but it concerns a king who orders all the people of his kingdom to pour one bucket of milk each into a well. I don’t remember for what reason, but that is beside the point. Maybe for charity or something. One of his ‘citizens’ comes up with the idea that he would pour water instead of milk, as that was obviously cheaper. Since everybody would be pouring milk, he thought, no one would know the difference if he poured water. After all, it was only one bucket. So the next day or morning or whatever amount of time later, the king arrives to check on the well. When he looks down the well he sees that it was filled completely with water. Apparently, everyone had come up with the same idea as that citizen, and had poured water.
And that is how people are, that is how we are. Completely selfish, completely useless to anybody except ourselves.
F***. I feel stupid at the moment, so stupid and melodramatic. But what is life without drama? Completely meaningless. Drama gives life meaning. It gives life…purpose. And I still crave dramatic effect to this particular moment, as if being hit by god-knows-what wasn’t dramatic enough. The blood, the gore, the f***ing crowd, they don’t add enough dramatic effect to your sorry miserable piece-of-s*** life? I ask myself.
I find myself being lifted off the ground, a series of blurry images strung together, and all of a sudden I’m facing heavenwards. Another face is directly in my sight, but my vision is too hazy to deduce any distinctive features. I realize I am being moved and when the sky disappears and I see myself inside a box with white interiors and even more faces looking down on me, I know that I’m in an ambulance.
I feel myself getting weak and just then, right on cue, my hearing returns. The replacement of sound instead of silence is so sudden and loud that it aches through my brain and it causes me to instantly close my eyes. I can hear various noises, even though they are vague and indistinctive.
I am getting feebler by the second and then, just as my hearing came back, sudden and sharp, gooseflesh rip through my body, and a certain coldness descends on me that robs all meaning from what I’ve just been through. It’s a feeling of intense vulnerability and I conclude, once again, that life is meaningless, with or without flashy dramatic effects. But this time it goes through me like a bullet through my brain, stabbing the deepest corridors of my heart. It doesn’t matter whether God exists, because His ‘life’, if I can call it that, is meaningless as well. What is His excuse for existence?
The coldness remains, a permanent embrace inside me, and I feel frail and it slowly comes to my senses that I might not survive this, that I might actually die. But I feel almost nothing at all at this realization, at least nothing painful or sad or anything bad, just a kind of nostalgic happiness. I consider my life and see that there is nothing to stay for, nothing that will motivate me to fight for my life, except the prospect of life itself. Family I hate, no friends I love, no lovers I hate, no job I strive for…a meaningless life if there ever was one. I wouldn’t mind if I died this very moment.
But there is still that tiny part of brain, at the smallest section of the back of my head which still begs for immortality, which strives for meaning and I readily give in to it. As the ambulance lurches on, I force myself to see clearly. I see a woman and instantly I grab her hand. Opposite sexes have greater dramatic effect. But as soon as I grab her hand, my mind draws a complete blank and I can’t think of anything to do, nothing at all that will make her remember me, and make people who knew me remember me. What can I do to make people cry over me, what to do for this smallest ounce of immortality within my reach?
The woman, whom I presume to be a paramedic or nurse, stares at me bewildered, and as my energy drains, I try to think of last words but nothing comes to my mind. Her eyes still persistent on me, like spotlights on stage, I raise my head and look at her for a moment and still nothing spectacular or theatrical springs to my mind, yet, I say, or rather, ask, What about my last words?
Feebly, I fall back. And close my eyes.