I have seen dead bodies before.
People who have lived long and fuitful lives and at their death bed are surrounded by loved ones and family who bear their departure with sadness and lots of fond memories.
People who have had their bodies ravaged by sickness, and disease, who want to live, but whose bodies betray them and refuse to sustain the life that still burns brightly. Their death beds are surrounded by people who grieve at their early passing, but are slightly relieved that the pain has ended.
People who die suddenly, in their sleep, on their friend's shoulder, in their homes, with no sign of struggle, and a beatific smile on their faces.
And then there are the suicides and accident victims. Their faces twisted in a grimace of pain, their limbs thrown haphazardly around them, barely covered with a plastic white sheet while gawkers stand arouns and stare at them with curiousity and barely disguised disgust.
I saw my first accident victim today. At 7:45 in the morning, at the junction of Ave 7 and Ave 4 - a junction that we use at least 4 times a week, if not more. He looked like a common man, dressed in Tshirt and grey pants, likely a labourer or night shifter, going home after work.
Noone knows what accounted for his lack of judgement in crossing the road at that point. But the car that hit him did not seem to be around. Would it have been different if they stopped and called for help? Did they in fact stop, and I missed them? I don't know. My senses were already overloaded by the man on the road. His life's blood trickling away towards the rain gutter, his status as human being forever defiled by his twisted body and that glaringly white sheet.
Makes you think (well, makes me think).
On and on the rain must fall
Like tears from the stars
Like tears from the stars
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
- Sting,
No comments:
Post a Comment