I was driving Carl, my white 2002 Saturn L100, with my dad in the passenger seat when all of a sudden a fire truck appeared on my right with its lights flashing.
I don't recall there being any shrieking sirens, but I needed to pull over and let the truck pass nonetheless. The truck was going weirdly slow though, and it was constantly on my right, preventing me from pulling to the side of the road.
It was dusk, so the sky wasn't completely dark but everything was in the shadows.
When I was finally able to pull over, it was down a dead end cul-de-sac in a suburb where the houses were packed in tight. The firetruck stopped behind my car and two policemen came out. They were running towards a house straight ahead with their guns pointed down. My dad and I got out of our car and stood on the street to watch what happened.
The police submerged from the house with 5 or maybe more young teenage girls who were freaking out because they were caught drinking. One of them was crying "are we going to get fined?!" and the police were escorting them out like they were getting arrested. At this point I had assumed that a neighbor called making a noise complaint or something, and the cops were coming to break up this party. I walked back to Carl and opened the driver's side door to get in.
Then all of a sudden, there was a man who resembled Borat with a gun. He walked forcefully from the house and up to my car and aimed his gun at me. One of the cops caught him from behind and tried restraining his arms. They were struggling immensely, and I ducked down to hide behind the open door of my car. I could still see the man with his gun pointing at me through the door's window.
The cop shouted "DON'T SHOOT" and they struggled for a bit, but then he shot and it hit my dad. I couldn't see my dad from where I was crouched but somehow I knew it had hit him. I had my hands over my ears and I was ducked down before the shot. When I looked back at the guy through the window, my eyes were on him for literally one second and then he shot me.
The bullet hit me right in the crevice of my right collar bone. The second it pierced me everything went black. I could feel a deep warmth start to grow in the spot where it hit me. I remember bracing myself for the pain. Then I felt the sensation like after you've hit your funny bone in your elbow. At first it hurts like a bitch, but then afterwards once the pain starts to subside you still feel the sensitivity of it. That's kind of what I was feeling in my collar bone. And my breathing became shallow; I felt like I was about to choke and drown in my own blood.
But once the bullet hit me, I wasn't panicked. It was honestly a more peaceful feeling, like the feeling of relief. And after maybe one minute of being dead/dying, and noticing that no actual pain was coming from the bullet wound, I realized that I had been dreaming and this wasn't real life.
Then I woke up.
It was very strange.
The end.
xxKa
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Irishtown Park
It hasn't been that long of a day.
Work lasted only 5 hours, so you got to sleep in and get out early. It's 3pm and you take your time leaving Starbucks, savoring a tall, sugar-free hazelnut americano with soy before embarking for home.
The sun is warm. Your skin begins to feel clammy under your winter coat, and you can't remember the last time you've walked outside without gloves on. It feels good. The old Georgian scenery is accompanied by strong winds passing. Little did you know they were the winds of foreshadow.
You unzip your coat and feel the soft breeze against your stomach. You already changed into your running clothes at work, so all that remains is to discard your excess baggage at the apartment then begin your jog. It was going to be just a small journey today. Or so you thought.
The walk back was a great warm-up; your calves were lose and ready to go. You strategically arrange your ipod clamped to the top of your leggings with the ear piece cord snaking under your cheetah sweater, so that it doesn't get tangled along your arms while you jog. Gladiators by Lorde fades in. You keep the music on low so that the sounds of nature are your real soundtrack. It was mostly for judging distance and time, anyways.
The pavement feels smooth under your feet. It's an easy glide from your apartment to the park. Really, the day couldn't have been better. It was an excellent combination of cool wind against your warm skin. You're already four songs deep when you see the ocean.
What a magnificent site. You've been to this park a few times before, but it never looked like it did today. The waves are perfectly blue, with white foam-brushed tops that melt onto the beach as they land. The birds were singing their warm-weathered joys across the bay and in the trees alongside the path. All the people, with their dogs or their friends or simply just themselves, looked completely content. After a couple legs of the path, it starts to sink in just how lucky you are to be here.
What an incredible opportunity you've been presented with. Have you taken it for granted until now? You think not, perhaps, but have you ever truly appreciated it?
You reminisce about your time here. All the things you've done. All the things you haven't done. All the things you made yourself miss out on. The things that have been holding you back. You think about the darkness, and what it has done to your life. How in a world full of consumers, you were being consumed.
But here you were, having a run alongside the ocean, with the sun shining on your back as well as your future. You think about how far you've come. What changes you've made thus far. And how that darkness seems to be lightening. You think about your life, and how much better you feel. How internal peace isn't just a fantasy anymore. You truly can heal yourself on your own.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you see the sun, and you feel the wind, and everything else is unimportant. When was the last time you could say that? Think about it. When was the last time that you felt like there was truly a tangible way towards peace?
But you don't think about it. You don't need to. You just run.
The pier arrives sooner than you think it will. It has been a lovely stride thus far. The pavement changes form to thick rectangular bricks that line up like Tetris pieces. This is a bit of a challenge for you, because the cracks between the pieces are precarious, but nothing a little concentration couldn't handle. Your eyes scan the ground for proper landing spaces for your feet. It was like an elongated game of hop scotch, going a bit to the left or jumping slightly to the right to make sure you hit the square within the lines.
The wind picks up. It pushes against your right side and tries to falter your movements. How funny you must look to those who were walking, you think. Your struggle against the wind must have been a bit humorous because of the inevitable diagonal stride you were now running with.
Almost to the pier, about a half mile down, and you're smiling. You stop just to glance behind you at the beautiful ocean waves passing. The pavement glittered like Edward Cullen's skin. Life just felt so good in this moment.
But everything was about to change.
You tap the wall at the very end and turn to make your way back. This time around the wind is not your friend. It lashes harshly against the left side of your body, so powerful in fact, that it invades your nostrils. You think this is a feeling you can manage for the length back, until it starts to become painful.
You feel the sensation like water going up your nose. It tingles and burns inside your face. You have no other choice but to block your nose with your left hand, impairing your vision on that side, and continue to chug along with your right. The pavement is just as dangerous as before, and you continue your game of hop scotch. This time, however, is much more difficult because you now only have one arm and one eye.
After what feels like the longest half mile run of your life, you finally reach the end of the pier. Instead of a gratifying relief from the harsh wind, you are now welcomed by a storm of sand being whipped at your face. Your nose-blocking hand is now used as a shield. After a few minutes of running in this uncomfortable position, you come to terms with the grueling truth that the length back is not going to be as satisfying as you had hoped. It was going to be hell.
...
Bring it on.
The sun blares through the bars of a fence on your right, creating a strobe light effect as you zip past. It hurts your head a little. It is not safe to drop your shielding hand, but you test it from time to time. There's sand in your mouth. You chew on it.
You start to feel like you're running in place because of how strong the wind and sand are. 'Just keep going,' you tell yourself. 'It won't be much better if you walk, and this way you'll make it through faster. Don't stop running.' You imagine you must look like an American football player during practice when they push against their blocking sled.
You alternate between swallowing your boogers and swallowing your saliva. Each time you chose one, you sacrifice your face to the other.
As you turn a corner and continue to impel against the obstacles, a springy man wearing sunglasses bounces past you and jogs ahead as if the path were as smooth as butter. You curse him under your breath.
It's a long tiresome battle, physically and mentally, against the villainous forces of nature, but you finally make it towards the finish line. You envision the rock that sits at the start of the park and tell yourself that this rock will mark your stopping point. You will not stop until you reach this rock.
The wind and sand are less persistent once the trees start lining the path again. This is when you notice how completely worn out your legs are. You feel your weak muscles giving you puppy dog eyes, begging you to stop. "Please, we are so tired. Just rest for a while. There are benches! There is soft grass! Take this weight off of us and give it to your butt!" But you don't listen.
You belch loudly, because why not. There's already boogers and drool smeared across your face like dead bugs on a wind shield.
The rock of all rocks, the beautiful stone of the gods, the shebang of marvelous monuments is now in site. You somehow manage to muster up the last of your energy to sprint to the finish line. After reaching your designated end, you strip off your head phones and raise your hands in triumph. You did it! You defeated the obstacle course that is Irishtown Park. You survived that hell of a run and have lived to tell the tale!
Dogs are walking faster than you are. They pass you on your left as you wipe your booger/drool/sand stained face. You think you must look like a porn star with your mouth a gape, eyes closed, and ferocious breathing. It feels so good to wipe your face off though. Then you realize you're using the same hand you used to wipe your nose throughout the run.
Walking back is glorious. You think about how powerful you are for persisting and completing your mission. Your legs feel like thick, hard pillars underneath you. Your thighs don't even touch anymore; that's how much fat you just burned.
As you drag yourself past the houses in Ballsbridge, you smell the scent of burning wood. It takes you back to autumn days of forests and bonfires. It smells heavenly. You turn your head towards the smell. That street looks small and quaint with cute little houses along it. Entertaining thoughts of what that street must look like with a closer view come to mind.
But you no longer have control over your legs. Your exhausted muscles that feel like they've been pummeled with a meat tenderizer have severed the connection to your brain and are now functioning on their own. Their sole mission is to get home. "No bonfire for you, bish!!" They're a little pissed off.
The walk home was completely uneventful and you're starting to lose your sanity a bit. When you finally reach your street, you see a kitty. That's one you've never seen before! You start talking to the Scat Cat much louder than you probably should be in the public light of day. "Hey little guy! You are so cute! I've never seen you before! Hey there hun. Hey there. Hi. Hey hun! You're cute!" This is a sample of the dialogue with which you speak to the animal.
You see Muffs, another Scat Cat, on your left. You start talking to him too. A person walks past. It's about time you sat down.
You finally make it into your apartment and scale your steps to the bedroom. Nothing has ever felt softer than the surface of your duvet in this moment. It's like the cold side of the pillow on crack. The only thing capable of prying you from this cushy heaven is thinking about how you should write about your experience today.
So you write about your experience today.
And you read about my experience today.
xxKa
Work lasted only 5 hours, so you got to sleep in and get out early. It's 3pm and you take your time leaving Starbucks, savoring a tall, sugar-free hazelnut americano with soy before embarking for home.
The sun is warm. Your skin begins to feel clammy under your winter coat, and you can't remember the last time you've walked outside without gloves on. It feels good. The old Georgian scenery is accompanied by strong winds passing. Little did you know they were the winds of foreshadow.
You unzip your coat and feel the soft breeze against your stomach. You already changed into your running clothes at work, so all that remains is to discard your excess baggage at the apartment then begin your jog. It was going to be just a small journey today. Or so you thought.
The walk back was a great warm-up; your calves were lose and ready to go. You strategically arrange your ipod clamped to the top of your leggings with the ear piece cord snaking under your cheetah sweater, so that it doesn't get tangled along your arms while you jog. Gladiators by Lorde fades in. You keep the music on low so that the sounds of nature are your real soundtrack. It was mostly for judging distance and time, anyways.
The pavement feels smooth under your feet. It's an easy glide from your apartment to the park. Really, the day couldn't have been better. It was an excellent combination of cool wind against your warm skin. You're already four songs deep when you see the ocean.
What a magnificent site. You've been to this park a few times before, but it never looked like it did today. The waves are perfectly blue, with white foam-brushed tops that melt onto the beach as they land. The birds were singing their warm-weathered joys across the bay and in the trees alongside the path. All the people, with their dogs or their friends or simply just themselves, looked completely content. After a couple legs of the path, it starts to sink in just how lucky you are to be here.
What an incredible opportunity you've been presented with. Have you taken it for granted until now? You think not, perhaps, but have you ever truly appreciated it?
You reminisce about your time here. All the things you've done. All the things you haven't done. All the things you made yourself miss out on. The things that have been holding you back. You think about the darkness, and what it has done to your life. How in a world full of consumers, you were being consumed.
But here you were, having a run alongside the ocean, with the sun shining on your back as well as your future. You think about how far you've come. What changes you've made thus far. And how that darkness seems to be lightening. You think about your life, and how much better you feel. How internal peace isn't just a fantasy anymore. You truly can heal yourself on your own.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you see the sun, and you feel the wind, and everything else is unimportant. When was the last time you could say that? Think about it. When was the last time that you felt like there was truly a tangible way towards peace?
But you don't think about it. You don't need to. You just run.
The pier arrives sooner than you think it will. It has been a lovely stride thus far. The pavement changes form to thick rectangular bricks that line up like Tetris pieces. This is a bit of a challenge for you, because the cracks between the pieces are precarious, but nothing a little concentration couldn't handle. Your eyes scan the ground for proper landing spaces for your feet. It was like an elongated game of hop scotch, going a bit to the left or jumping slightly to the right to make sure you hit the square within the lines.
The wind picks up. It pushes against your right side and tries to falter your movements. How funny you must look to those who were walking, you think. Your struggle against the wind must have been a bit humorous because of the inevitable diagonal stride you were now running with.
Almost to the pier, about a half mile down, and you're smiling. You stop just to glance behind you at the beautiful ocean waves passing. The pavement glittered like Edward Cullen's skin. Life just felt so good in this moment.
But everything was about to change.
You tap the wall at the very end and turn to make your way back. This time around the wind is not your friend. It lashes harshly against the left side of your body, so powerful in fact, that it invades your nostrils. You think this is a feeling you can manage for the length back, until it starts to become painful.
You feel the sensation like water going up your nose. It tingles and burns inside your face. You have no other choice but to block your nose with your left hand, impairing your vision on that side, and continue to chug along with your right. The pavement is just as dangerous as before, and you continue your game of hop scotch. This time, however, is much more difficult because you now only have one arm and one eye.
After what feels like the longest half mile run of your life, you finally reach the end of the pier. Instead of a gratifying relief from the harsh wind, you are now welcomed by a storm of sand being whipped at your face. Your nose-blocking hand is now used as a shield. After a few minutes of running in this uncomfortable position, you come to terms with the grueling truth that the length back is not going to be as satisfying as you had hoped. It was going to be hell.
...
Bring it on.
The sun blares through the bars of a fence on your right, creating a strobe light effect as you zip past. It hurts your head a little. It is not safe to drop your shielding hand, but you test it from time to time. There's sand in your mouth. You chew on it.
You start to feel like you're running in place because of how strong the wind and sand are. 'Just keep going,' you tell yourself. 'It won't be much better if you walk, and this way you'll make it through faster. Don't stop running.' You imagine you must look like an American football player during practice when they push against their blocking sled.
You alternate between swallowing your boogers and swallowing your saliva. Each time you chose one, you sacrifice your face to the other.
As you turn a corner and continue to impel against the obstacles, a springy man wearing sunglasses bounces past you and jogs ahead as if the path were as smooth as butter. You curse him under your breath.
It's a long tiresome battle, physically and mentally, against the villainous forces of nature, but you finally make it towards the finish line. You envision the rock that sits at the start of the park and tell yourself that this rock will mark your stopping point. You will not stop until you reach this rock.
The wind and sand are less persistent once the trees start lining the path again. This is when you notice how completely worn out your legs are. You feel your weak muscles giving you puppy dog eyes, begging you to stop. "Please, we are so tired. Just rest for a while. There are benches! There is soft grass! Take this weight off of us and give it to your butt!" But you don't listen.
You belch loudly, because why not. There's already boogers and drool smeared across your face like dead bugs on a wind shield.
The rock of all rocks, the beautiful stone of the gods, the shebang of marvelous monuments is now in site. You somehow manage to muster up the last of your energy to sprint to the finish line. After reaching your designated end, you strip off your head phones and raise your hands in triumph. You did it! You defeated the obstacle course that is Irishtown Park. You survived that hell of a run and have lived to tell the tale!
Dogs are walking faster than you are. They pass you on your left as you wipe your booger/drool/sand stained face. You think you must look like a porn star with your mouth a gape, eyes closed, and ferocious breathing. It feels so good to wipe your face off though. Then you realize you're using the same hand you used to wipe your nose throughout the run.
Walking back is glorious. You think about how powerful you are for persisting and completing your mission. Your legs feel like thick, hard pillars underneath you. Your thighs don't even touch anymore; that's how much fat you just burned.
As you drag yourself past the houses in Ballsbridge, you smell the scent of burning wood. It takes you back to autumn days of forests and bonfires. It smells heavenly. You turn your head towards the smell. That street looks small and quaint with cute little houses along it. Entertaining thoughts of what that street must look like with a closer view come to mind.
But you no longer have control over your legs. Your exhausted muscles that feel like they've been pummeled with a meat tenderizer have severed the connection to your brain and are now functioning on their own. Their sole mission is to get home. "No bonfire for you, bish!!" They're a little pissed off.
The walk home was completely uneventful and you're starting to lose your sanity a bit. When you finally reach your street, you see a kitty. That's one you've never seen before! You start talking to the Scat Cat much louder than you probably should be in the public light of day. "Hey little guy! You are so cute! I've never seen you before! Hey there hun. Hey there. Hi. Hey hun! You're cute!" This is a sample of the dialogue with which you speak to the animal.
You see Muffs, another Scat Cat, on your left. You start talking to him too. A person walks past. It's about time you sat down.
You finally make it into your apartment and scale your steps to the bedroom. Nothing has ever felt softer than the surface of your duvet in this moment. It's like the cold side of the pillow on crack. The only thing capable of prying you from this cushy heaven is thinking about how you should write about your experience today.
So you write about your experience today.
And you read about my experience today.
xxKa
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