Personal Narrative - Hit by a Car Essay -- Injury Disability

The Living ShadowI want a lot, and theres a lot I dont. But Id instead I not want at all. To want - such a human matter to do You know, a trait of those organic markers who demarcate and disfigurethen there are those gray areas. Like an epidemic, the smears spread from one to another..I apologize. Im making the murky waters murkier. To elucidateA yellowing calendar rapscallion materializes before my own eyes. As I ponder above the black-and-white chessboard splashed with gray, I glance as an inexplicable draft flattens the varlet momentarily everyplace a dusty dividing line. The page reads, August 18, 2008. Immediately, the sheet transmutes into a pane of glass. Nonchalant, I stare as the pane rises up over me, and shatters against my head. The glass pieces disintegrate upon impact, and I stand among showering particles, examining my new environment. The board has become a garden, one partially teeming with life and mixed with utter finale and destruction. I reach out and lightl y grasp a blurry leaf. Did I touch it? Did I imagine it?As if in answer, I smack itand then, its gone. I went into a coma on that day. At least, thats what they say. They say I was crossing a street near my school on the counselling to my home. I was jay-walking. More correctly, I was breaking the law. Yes, the irony soaks that calendar page. Yes, a car hit me, sending me flying. No, the actual impact wasnt that damaging. Two fractured clavicles, I think. But obeying the laws of gravity, I fell. Apparently, my head landed on a concrete edge. More correctly, the back of my head collided with stone. Yes, that was damaging. A debilitated cerebellum, I think.Since my brain alkali incurred damage, it meant that I would possess a physical disability for... ...I raise my pen and jerk it downward. Paint is a temporal dress at best, right? At the moment before the knife-like tip strikes a knife-like slab, my movement is halted. Flabbergasted, I try again. What else if not the same end th at meets me? I relax the utensil. Its an unspoken blueprint I cant know some constitutions. A draft inexplicably evinces, and as a reminder, a page materializes What matters, it states. Life matters, I retort. What I cerebrate is life, is what I seewhat humans seeand what they see defines what they choose to do its the human way. I choose to believe what is important. And what a human thing to do So be it, I am an organic marker. I spread the epidemic. Just an organic marker, scribbling and smearing. The murky waters stay the same, as I run my course. Like an unspoken rule, physical constraints run with me. Its the human way.