segment from my novel
They said I will have bits of glass logged in my body for several years to come. Apparently they can't dig them all out. I wondered what patterns the blood spatter painted on the road and if the abstract art piece of bone fragments, human skin and tissue, and twisted metal would make some pretentious student bow down in appreciation. Why couldn't I feel anything? Did the pain receptors decide they had enough? Or had the EMT's pumped me full of some beautiful drug. Numbness is bliss. I would remain numb longer than I needed to. With the constant pain came more drugs. With more drugs came the gradual dulling of my life. I became a ghost of my former self. A cruel shadow that walked and talked but was only a farce, a mockup, a dopelganger meant to haunt and torment everyone I came across. I became everything and nothing. What a paradox.