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By Graham Storrs Submitted by graham_storrs Date: 2001 Sep 12 Comment on this Work [[2001.09.12.23.55.30606]] |
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"I've lost co-ordination in my hand." And the world becomes a darkening storm of grim purpose; racing down spiteful roads; pushing through the blur of slow people to reach the one in the uniform; "I think my wife's had a stroke." As I sit and talk to you, as I sit alone and gasping in fear in the night, as your long recovery plays out in tiny, heart-bursting finger movements, fewer words mis-spoken, our wise eyes reflect the horror of what might have been. The handful of lucky breaks and hasty choices that saved your life seem a too- thin thread on which to hang all a man's happiness. |