a funny thing to see

On the way to school I passed a dump truck.  I imagined what it would be like to lay in front of it across the road.  I imagined the giant tires slowly rolling over my body, popping me like an insect.  I heard my ribs cracking; not only did they break beneath the tremendous weight but they were splintered and ground to a fine powder.  I saw the blood and organs ooze out from either side of my body and my heart burst like a bubble, the veins and arteries pouring out like a nest of cobras.

I imagined what would become of me.  I wondered what I would do every evening.  I wondered what I would do before bed.  I wondered if I’d ever get a massage again.  I wondered if I would get my homework done on time.  I wondered if I would spend days alone and nights crying.  I wondered if I would get over it, forget.  I wondered if I should wish or do something about my ability, or inability to forget about the past, to not think about the future.  To concentrate on the present – always my weak spot.

The dump truck passed by me, passed over me.  I watched my body lie on the ground.  My head was perfectly intact other than the trickle of blood that passed from my lips down my cheek.  My feet and lower legs were fine.  The middle of my body, my heart, had been crushed, smothered against the pavement.  A tire track ran over me; some of the mud caked onto the tires remained on my lifeless body.  I laughed. What a funny thing to see on the way to school.


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