I had the right of way while walking across the street. A car hit me on my right side, and I fell down on my left.
After spending about half an hour on the ground and about 30 minutes in an ambulance, I spent another 4 hours at the hospital.
Waiting so long gave me a lot of time to think. I even wondered whether I’d tell anyone about what happened.
I know I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life.
Everyone told me I’m okay. But I don’t feel okay. I don’t feel fine on the inside. My body hurts so much.
Still, I realize I’m lucky to be alive. I’m lucky to walk out of this with my life.
Wrong place, wrong time. Accidents happen.
I don’t want to be angry or bitter. I don’t want to cry any more than I already have. I do want to move on.
That being said, I feel scared. I’m terrified I won’t be the same. I have no idea how much this incident will affect me from now until the day I die.
I wish I could brush it all under the rug. Too bad I can’t.
February 6th, 2018 was the worst day of my life.
Because that’s just rude and uncalled for.
And you’ll die in a story.
Not before you’re embarrassed in every way possible.
The writer will envision how you die at least two dozen times.
He or she will pick the cruelest way.
Said writer will write your death scene a good thirty-eight times.
Just to get it right.
The story will make the writer millions.
You, rude person, helped make the writer millions.
On second thought, maybe you should help the writer make millions.
Then again the world is too cruel to pay writers. Much less pay them millions.
I’m thinking of one big bad business in particular.
Just don’t be mean or rude. Nasty or cruel.
Besides you never know who’s a writer and who isn’t.
In other words, you’ll never know when you will die…fictionally.
I don’t care if I’ve never heard of the author. Whether I love the book or hate it does not matter either. If a book belongs to me, it will belong to me forever. Until I die. When I do, it’ll be buried with me.
You work hard your entire lifetime only to become famous after you die.
If I did not live, I would rather die.
If I did not write, I would rather die.
If I die, I would rather live and write.