A Life In The Day

3 April 2008

It was to be indicative of the rest of the day. I fell out of bed earlier than usual. The difference was the bump on my head. I usually missed the end table on the way down.

Of course I was somewhat drowsy from getting up early. This may explain why I cut myself shaving. Why it was a cut to the throat that looked like a suicide attempt, instead of the usual nick on the chin, didn’t explain the rest of the day either.

While I was busy inflicting pain on myself, I thought that I might as well break a glass while getting it out of the dishwasher. This made it easy to cut myself on the wrist. I was quickly becoming a poster for someone who was trying to attract attention by attempted suicide. I wasn’t attempting of course, but I was beginning to think that someone, or something, was trying to tell me different.

I could have avoided the swinging door, but the dog was in the way and I didn’t want to hurt him. I moved my head the wrong way while side-stepping it, and got clocked by the handle, right in the nose. I was again surprised by how quickly eyes blacken after a rap in the bridge of the nose. Of course, the dog also slammed into my legs and knocked me to the floor for the second time of the day. I hadn’t been up an hour yet.

Not wanting to seem like I was looking for attention, I failed to tell you about nearly choking to death on a piece of dry toast. I had intended to put peanut butter on it, but due to the cut finger, I dropped it. Who would guess that dropping a bottle of it on one’s foot could cause it to break like it had been hit by a hammer. No, I didn’t cut myself while picking it up. Until I was hit by the door, so I thought the day was picking up until then.

I also couldn’t wash the toast down since the mouthful of milk that I attempted to swallow was sour and solidifying. I got my first clue when a chunk of something slid down my tongue, and my second when the taste caused me to puke. On the good side, it caused me to vomit out the toast that had been stuck.

I wasn’t sure what part of the dog hit me in the shin, but whatever it was, it left an aching pain like someone had ground a rock down my shin. I pulled up my pants leg, and sure enough, I had patches of white skin that had been peeled away.

Limping over to the closet, I pulled back the sliding door of the closet, but didn’t let go of the heavy door soon enough and it slammed my fingers into the frame. I looked at them while the pain was still intense, and noticed that the little finger was bent to the side. I guess with the pain from all of them, I hadn’t noticed the extra anguish from the broken one. It was the smallest one of them after all.

Well, the day progressed right on schedule for my death. I rode my bicycle until I hit a railroad track that was at an angle. The front tire caught in the groove along the rail, and slid the bike out from under me. I was sent about ten feet down the road, face down in the gravel. When I stood up I was bleeding heavily over the rocks and stones that were embedded in my face.

With the one eye that hadn’t been injured, I looked down at the wrist that had made a loud snapping sound when I tried to rescue my face by catching myself. Of course it wasn’t the same one with the broken finger. It hurt a lot when I tried to shake off the pain, but I was confident that it was only going to be a small break, and probably only one of the two wrist bones broken.

I stood up to see where the bike had gone, but noticed a medium sized red car heading right towards me. I was going to step out of it’s way, but neither knee wanted to bend. It was like some kind of cracking symphony when I twisted them to move.

Fortunately the red car swung over and missed me by inches, well almost. The mirror caught me in the hip, knocking me back into the road and gravel. I swear that it took me ten minutes to get my legs to take the weight and support me while I crawled up to a stand.

I must’ve been a surprise for the driver of the truck when I suddenly appeared in front of him. The heavy brakes squealed loudly, enough to make me fear for my eardrums. I held my breath and covered my ears with my broken hands and fingers. I knew I couldn’t walk or jump out of way.

The bumper knocked me on my back once again, but I was sure that I had only a couple of broken ribs that I would have that checked out when I went to the hospital to have my wrist looked at.

I hurt plenty when I bent my body to turn over and push myself up to my knees. Then it hurt more from putting my weight on my knees and the broken wrist. At least the broken finger was bent at an angle that it didn’t contact the street when I used that hand.

I used the yellow railing that was next to me, pulling myself up while the ribs flexed and screamed at me. I knew I had to get up to get out of the road before another vehicle came by, and I was determined to get there. I had to visit a hospital before long anyway.

Once standing, I watched the truck swing around me and disappear. I leaned against the railing while catching my breath. I was still in the road, but they would have to take the safety railing with me if they were going to hit me again.

But finally, the pain of standing there was getting as bad as everything else, and I had to move, hopefully somewhere I could lay down and relax the sore ribs.

I swung around the end of the railing and missed the ground with my first step. It wasn’t surprising since instead of road, it was an open manhole, the reason for the circular railing that I had been leaning on.

Anticipating the crash at the bottom of the sewer, I curled up and hoped that my shoulder, so far uninjured, would keep me from bashing my head against the cement of the pipe since I had hit the metal opening of the manhole on my way through. As it turned out though, there was plenty of rushing water because of the recent rains and flooding. I never had a chance.

Barbara Blackcinder


About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a need for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and mine when you read those from me.
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One Response to A Life In The Day

  1. Whoot!!!

    Saying I love this piece could make me sound like a masochist but I Love it 🙂

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