The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth

Glass Confetti

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Am I the only one who daydreams about stepping in the path of a train or a car? Not in a suicidal way, I don’t want to kill myself; I simply have a niggling fascination as to what it would feel like in those few seconds of impact.

I’ve always thought of just stepping forward into nothing, what that would feel like. The car hasn’t hit you yet but you know it’s coming, and in that moment you are absent of any emotion apart from an odd sense of anticipation for what is about to ensue. You don’t have time to move away, to panic, you simply lunge forward into the abyss of the accident, the eye of the hurricane. I wonder would I close my eyes, or would I keep them wide open until the neon glare of car headlights engulfs my entire vision. Or would it be over before I could really decide, and I’d simply fall without realisation of what is happening?

And then it hits you.

I wonder what that would feel like too. Like the pins and needles you get trying to walk on a dead leg? Like suddenly being plunged under an ice cold wave, until your lungs burst from trying to break free from the waters vice-like grip? Like touching fire and only realising a second later, white hot pain that takes a second to register? A force so strong it knocks every ounce of breath out of your body? Or would you feel so much pain it seems you feel nothing at all? You simply hear the screech, the screams, a dull heavy thud somewhere close beside you (did it hit me? Should I not feel that?). There’s only the quiet slam of metal colliding against skin, and the sharp crescendo of shattering bones like glass confetti scattered in the wind.

I wonder if my mind would be able to think, to recall every memory I’ve experienced in a kaleidoscope of images before my eyes. Or would the windscreens, engines and tyres swallow me into darkness and overpower my mind before I could take my next breath? I’d be alive one second, and the next- gone.

I feel crazy for even thinking all of this, to ponder pain with such inquisitive eyes. Mostly I ignore the little voice that calls me in, but still I see the headlights flash, feel the flutter of the air as cars move past, hear the gentle grind of tyres beckon me closer. And I wonder, I wonder, I wonder- what would it be like? I wonder, but I’m not sure I shall ever know.

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Author: thebrowneyeddreamer

Teenage girl from the mysterious, rainy land of Northern Ireland, obsessed with music, France and movies. I like to write books and poetry when I can get my head out of the clouds.

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