On Being Run Down

How could you do this to me- how could you? Don't just stand there looking down on me, with your mouth agape, like a fish dry drowning. You have irrevocably changed my life, you know that, right? You've killed me. I'm sure of it. I'm lying here crumpled, broken. I can't move my legs. I have no feeling from my belly down. This is terrifying. What have you done, what have you done to me? How did you not see me, I am right here. RIGHT HERE.  This hurts, you know. I know you can't hear me, I realize this now. But I am doing my best to stare at you through my half closed eyelids in this state of semi consciousness. I am trying to intuit this information to you through my slowly fading spirit. Every iota of my being is focused on trying to move, to speak, to scream or burble, any sound will do. The pain. Oh this is ridiculously painful and numbing at the same time. I was right there, beside you, behind you, ahead of you, in your rearview, your sideview, your windshield. On the corner, your passenger side, your driver's side. Oh- oh, my bike. My poor, poor bike. I loved that bike. I'll never ride it again. I'll never walk again, that's for sure. I really did not anticipate this, not today, not in this way. Normally, I do; I have a sixth sense of when it's safe to ride and when I should leave the bike at home. Today felt like a good, no, a great day. Focused, clear, cool, full of promise, pure potential. I loved today. Then you hit me. You ran me down, turned into me, rolled over my lifeless body as I lay like a rag doll, spent and torn, all sinewy tendons, bones sheared, skin grated off.  Your truck is ridiculously large for the city. Too large. So much blood. How much blood in the human body, I wonder. Pooling, sticky, sprayed across my skin and congealing in the curves and corners, staining everything a deep brownish red. The asphalt is leaking my life down the drain. Oh, my shirt! I loved this shirt. I paid too much for it on a day when everything was going sideways and it felt like an extravagant splurge. I feel so wonderful in this shirt. Vibrant, powerful, free. See the sleeves? Oh, where are my sleeves... It's the detail that sold me. What a mess. I don't have a living will. I should have thought about that. All my stuff, the leftovers. Overripe bananas, the litterbox. The cats. Bills, appointments- my profiles online. How could you not see me? I was right here. On my bell. In your eyeline, off your wheel. Me. Me, you need to see me. I was right here.

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