That saturday

That Saturday while I was working on a PLA001 Tower Crane, I slipped and fell.
I remember that moment clearly though what happened before or after comes to me in intermittent images that blend and weave themselves within each other confusing me. I recall the harness incorrectly attached that snapped as I leant over to reach my welder. I see the welding mask fall, swirling downwards, and, looking at how I now find myself suspended, realise in horror I will be seeing it again very soon.

I remember looking down – not my best idea. The image of the ground below flashes through my mind; buildings, roofs, trees, pedestrians looking upwards open-mouthed. I have to admit there would have been no way for me to see their expressions. They could have been laughing for all I know pointing upwards and dancing a jig. What I do know is that if I looked up and saw someone dangling four hundred feet in the air from a singular piece of metal I’d be catching flies that’s for sure.

The last thing I do remember was the drop itself. Desperately I clawed upwards to gain some leverage but my grip was weak and gravity was about to come into play. The harness finally gave with a tear that symbolised my departure from the world. I am falling, spinning, doing cartwheels. Though the cold around me takes hold the feeling is strangely exhilarating. I’m enjoying my impending death. Is that natural?

I’m not dead. I’m lying on a bed, a bed I am firmly strapped down too. There are people near me. I hear their voices as they roam above me saying I’m lucky to be alive. Am I lucky? I don’t think so. The pain is excruciating. I can’t move. I feel trapped and disorientated. Up above me the people continue their conversation. They don’t know I hear them that much is obvious. My wife and her new lover sit on the edge of the bed and kiss while she strokes my arm, my daughter approaches later pleading for me not to leave her to her new life, her new existence. She isn’t happy I can sense this. Her colour is gone, her image above me blends into the grey walls and ceiling. I can’t see much, I can’t hear much but I do react when a tear drops onto my left cheek. I want to hold her, console her but am unable to do so. New memories of the fall slip into consciousness. When my legs finally hit the ground they buckled in two places one sheering off completely both bones shattering the crack sickening me as I lay there waiting to die. My skull cracked open and the cold swarmed inwards. My only warmth was the pool of my own blood I lay in. The pain and the knowledge I may not leave this place is hard to stomach however this is not what distresses me most. Looking upwards through blurred and sorry eyes I have to watch my daughter cry and I cannot help her. That is the pain that is too hard to bear.

I feel angry. Why am I not dead? Who would wish to save me like this? My wife has obviously turned against me, friends come in occasionally and the words are always the same. It’s such a waste. He meant so much to us. Life is cruel. They are right - it is a waste, life is cruel but what can we do. We have to accept the hand that is dealt to us. Lying below them, stretched out lifeless on this bed, it is hard for me to listen to these people and their sorrow. I know they mean well, I know that they care. It’s just so hard being down here unable to give my opinion, unable to express the emotion that wells within me, to deal with the frustration, the torment, the uncertainty of my situation. It’s hard to be unable to answer their questions. It’s hard to be unable to tell them it will turn out ok.
 
My parents hobbled in and left some flowers. My mother was holding back the tears; my fathers face was grey and creased with anguish. The doctors poke and prod to test my reaction. Outside, around this lifeless existence nothing is moving and though I do try to respond I am clearly aware I am wasting my time. Inside I’m screaming for them to stop, screaming at the top of my lungs. They can’t hear me, the fall has damaged my brain and words, words that were only too easy back then, stutter through my mind never reaching my lips. This particular doctor pokes one further time and when there is no response walks away his head shaking. Last week my work colleagues were here. They sang some songs, they drank a beer above me then my foreman told me a new joke he’d heard. To be fair it was pretty funny but I don’t suppose the foreman was too surprised when I didn’t laugh. They left then, back to their separate lives, back to their existence in the world, their family, their television programs, their football, their candle lit dinners, their… the list is endless.

Darkness appears over me once more. He is here. He is the man I have been waiting for. A red spot hovers above me. Through blurred eyes I see him hold his head in his hands, through dimmed ears I hear the sobs as he tries to force out his apology. He grabs my hand and the warmth of the touch, the warmth of the emotion stirs me. For the first time for three years my left finger begins to twitch.

Final word count: 965