As privilege bestowed upon most,but I have always

As I lay beside the boiling composition
of tar and chemicals, still clueless of what has just happened. The
excruciating pain is throbbing through my still body ; paralyzed from shock,
but I can still feel the pain in my entire body . As I gazed upon the
never-ending road , mesmerised by the mirage. I remember.

I had never really looked at my hands
as a privilege bestowed upon most,but I have always been looking at the world
through rose tinted glasses. Up until now I have been slaving away with my one
extraordinary talent, piano.

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The irony is painful, at this moment
where I am inches from death , I can see the world through a magnifying glass.
As clear as moonlight, I see that arrogance is my Achilles heel.

As a truck isrolling towards this disastrouswreckage
I attempt to scream at the top of my lungs, but my efforts are futile, the
driver glared at me with blistering eyes as he drives past. The air stinks of burning
plastics , at least that is what I think it is, I wonder if I’m the only one.
The only one left. Just like my hands I took my family for granted.

It is all coming back to me now, the
siren like screams, the screeching tyres , the crushing momentum of the impact
when in air , and when crashing back down into the ground, all new to me. All
due to me.

We were driving back home from a
family favourite restaurant when I received a phone call from distant relatives
that live in the “land of rain and cold” as my mother would say, Great Britain.
Due to my newly found confidence sprouted by the alcohol I drank, and boosted
by my arrogance. I made a “very wise decision” to answer the call. One hand on
the wheel, another on the phone.

“your grandmother has passed” he
said, with his voice trembling and quivering from sadness. Instantaneously I
turned my phone, and in doing so I had both of my underappreciated hands off
the wheel.

Now neither of my hands remain, nor
do my family… I can taste the regret and bitterness in my mouth.

The loud sounds of ambulances soar
closer and closer until they are a prominent screech. I hear voices, but they
are not the paramedics. These voices they are asurvival instinct. All they are
whispering is, inches…