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I get it now: Good. Bye.
Three.
"We didn't make it after all-"
57
-Angel
I'm a stone.
I have been thrown. I plopped into the water and am sinking to the bottom.
A great river thrashes around me.
Fish float belly up along the surface of the murky damp.
Its cold, but I don't shiver.
Then hot, but I don't burn.
I wait for the water to lift me, to sweep me from this place on its' current.
58
-Angel
I'm awake.
I'm awake?
Shit.
There is a gigantic pulsing pain streaking from my forehead to my neck.
Shitty shit!
And the doctor is convinced I need to see it.
After a cursory glance at the enormous knot protruding over my right eye, I drop the handle of the mirror.
He rattles on about my "intraparenchymal hemorrhage with contusions." Or some idiot crap like that.
I could not care less if I wanted to.
It's useless.
I'm useless.
A complete failure.
Shit. Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shitty-shit.
