Catalepsy

Waiting impatiently for my signal to cross, still the intersection ticked and beeped at me, aping my ailing heartstrings. Suddenly my eyes bore witness to a flash of opportunity. Darkness fell from the murky depths of the traffic. A path, a narrow crossing I examined with caution. Waiting so impatiently. There was no traffic now, just the unknowing tick of the intersection. Poor Yvonne! I’d left her waiting far too long now, left everything far too late…

I held my breath and ran my fingers across my eyelids to deliver them of the salty nuisance. I checked the traffic in desperation, the gap need only be large enough for me to cross this damned street to reach my affection. I timed my leap into the street and beyond, into Yvonne’s waiting presence, leaving behind the ignorant couples and those less able to act as I.

I stepped from the gutter onto the fierce bitumen, making haste across the street. I quickly found myself toeing the line adorning its centre, as a momentary truck made it’s way past. Stepping confidently after the truck I could see the path ahead of me. The comfortable glow of the street lamps luminated my path. I would unmask my passion and bathe in relief. What a moment it would be.

I heard the muffled roar of an engine to my left, but paid it no attention, continuing the final steps off the street. In my expectant perception I had reached the curb, but in reality the car had hit me. I noticed my leg hovering before my face and the horizontal movement of the buildings as my body flew through the air, my mind now a haze, a shade of deep purple. By the time the car screeched to a halt my body had sprayed across the road; in two or more pieces I felt sure. Broken glass everywhere, my poor, bent frame, panic pulsing like a wildfire. My adrenal glads were charging my spent being, almost giving me the strength to stand up, before my efforts failed, gravity proving too much I fell to the bitumen like a helpless clump of jelly.

The cruellest spite of all was the intersection, springing to life, the red and green figures substituting with rapid enthusiasm. A few meddling persons found their way to my aid. The fierce pain of my leg was my first concern, my embarrassment if nothing else kept my eyes closed. Then my concern portioned to my lungs, as I felt a dense liquid quickly filling my airways. My head fell back as the cloggy choke of blood blocked my mouth and nose. I heard a distant crash and ate peaceful death quietly amongst the broken glass and bright city lights in the cool autumn evening.

Two or perhaps three minutes had passed, and I tried to clear my head and relax until help arrived. Snapping to attention I sensed darkness and nothing more. I felt a light piercing my skin, it’s warmth familiar as if lying on a Spanish beach in summer, but my eyes were determined to remain closed and I tried not to fight it, my weakness was immense.

I heard voices. Two women. I could hear footsteps, their origin and resonance unfamiliar. They echoed loudly and seemed to approach from a reasonable distance, approximating a room of some great size typical of hospital wards. Alas, it befell my poor mental processes that I was no longer lying on the road, rather positioned in the corridor of such a place, as its distance suggested, but I paid it no further notice. It is peculiar how the imagination can conjure so exactly circumstances that are so incredibly detailed that they could easily be substituted for place reality.