The traffic seemed less than usual. The crowded junction was smooth. I could see the uneven road quite clearly, unhidden by the customary load of vehicles on a Wednesday morning. And then the surroundings changed, all in a second; maybe less. Like the descent of a roller coaster, my view had descended down to the uneven road. I could see the ground up close. My eyes turned towards my right. My hand reached out to the key fixed in my scooty and turned off the engine. I could hear people around me coming to my aid. I did not understand why though. I was in a haze. My mind had drifted away.
I was back in the cold evening descending into the dark night on a Wednesday two years ago. It was a happy day. I had come out of the parking as I was on my way back home, crossed the barrier and was about to turn around the roundabout when it happened. A loud bang somewhere from my right, I guess I knew exactly where. Maybe I was just imagining it. I screamed at the top of my voice. As it drowned I was already falling forward from my scooty, head first down the smooth road. My right knee had hit the ground, hard. My right hand had taken a major impact. I could hear people around me. My scooty might have been lying as dead as ever on my left. Someone had picked it up while the others helped me get up. As I stood my eyes fell on my right hand smeared with splits of skin mixed with blood. Somewhere on my left foot blood was oozing out. Someone from the crowd asked me to get first aid. I wasn’t listening. I didn’t even look back at the person who had hit my scooty. Maybe he left. Maybe he fell. I slowly limped towards my scooty. I didn’t know what I was doing. I am not sure they heard my thank you(s). I mounted myself slowly on the vehicle and sped away. And when I knew I was alone, no one near me would know what had happened, I broke down. My tears kept streaming and my mouth opened to scream, yet I heard only a whimper in the cold breeze. It started to rain. Raindrops punctured my wound little by little. I was soaked in rain and partly in my own tears. I was alone. I was scared. I was running away. I was trying to calm myself down but how. I wasn’t ready for this. I reached home, parked my scooty and went up to my apartment. I was drenched. I dropped my bag somewhere, looked for clothes and changed. As I finally settled on the sofa my eyes fell on my helmet. I saw the scratches. The helmet had saved me.
The searing pain rising in my left arm brought me back. I was now standing and someone was offering me water. I politely refused and searched for my scooty which they had lifted up and moved to the side. People around me were asking if I was okay just like they did two years ago. My face was covered with the same helmet and a scarf. I’m not sure they heard my thank you(s). Maybe they did. Someone asked me if I would be able to drive. And there I was, just like two years ago, on my scooty, zooming away from the place whilst tears smeared down my face. I was trying to calm myself down. And somewhere maybe I knew better this time how to handle myself for this had happened before. Luckily it wasn’t that bad this time around. Though the shock seems similar, the wound hurts the same if not more, the heart fears another place where the mind wonders it might happen AGAIN, IN TWO YEARS!
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