I'll cross the street, but won't get to the other side. My head manages to turn just in time to see the car that's going to hit me.
The driver tries to brake, but the car had too much speed. The bumper nails my knees perfectly, sling-shooting my torso and head straight downward into the windshield.
And that is that; the end.
Ya, that might be how it all ends for me. It doesn't bother me at all. The whole situation just seems right. For the longest time, I've just had this feeling that I'm going to die young. Young being a relative word, the age 31 comes specifically to mind.
I have no idea when this thought came to me, nor the specific number 31. I don't have a death wish. I'm also not suicidal. I'm just....sure, for the lack of a better word, that I'll die due to some circumstance outside of my immediate control.
The car scenario seems like a likely cause, but I don't know how my final scene will unfold. For all I know I'll get jumped on the street, during a walk home from a bar. Maybe it'll be a baseball bat to the face that cuts me out. Or maybe I'll just be some clumsy fool who'll trip down some stairs and land the wrong way.
A friend of mine tells me she's amazed she has lived to the age of 24. When she was 18, she was sure she's be dead by now. Her young life has been a testament to living by the code of drugs, sex and rock&roll. Maybe I subconsciously stole the notion form her.... who knows.
What I do know is that I'm okay with it. Why worry about the end if I can't immediately avoid it.
No comments:
Post a Comment