“If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.” – Roald #Dahl
I ran out to the street and fell to my knees. Rough asphalt tore the skin over my shinbones. Hot blood welled up in pools and rivulets beneath me. Passersby ambling on the pavement turned with laser-like precision to observe my woe. I was a wreck; I was a wreck. My eye sockets throbbed.
Why had she left me? Wasn’t I enough? Had I ever been enough? What could I do to make things right?
The beep of a car behind me was an accompaniment to my woe, of traffic proportions.
I slowly dragged myself up and rubbed at my knees. Wetness ran in-between my fingers, a thick syrup: pungent and strong. My insides were wrong, like my mind was wrong. A real human would’t bleed this little—they’d spout lifeblood in a font surrounded by cherubs and ivy. I was a simulacrum, a robot, an android, a cloned thing that mimicked those nearest me.
I felt a hand touch my shoulder and flinched. The beep of traffic had become more insistent, but I refused to turn around, staring instead at the speckled pattern of the road.
‘Are you a’right, mate?’
‘Am I?’ I didn’t know.