I didn't know what I was getting myself into. The first time felt unreal but then when I found myself shooting anything that moves in a dugout trench with hundreds of men, some with missing body parts, I was dumbfounded as hell.
Physics is the subject that I think about first thing in the morning when I wake up bright and early.
I know what you’re thinking; what kind of person thinks about calculations and formulas on how to get the displacement and velocity of an object? I’d say that would be a practical person………and a nerd to boot.
I detest the very idea of numbers and don’t even get me started on the actual calculations. If I could find a way to avoid the subject that has even a bit of math in it, I would so help me God.
I know what you’re thinking again; what is this person talking about? I’m a mind reader so deal with it. Stick with me for a while here and I’ll explain the inner workings of my mind after I wake myself up properly.
Would you look at that, a cup of coffee! A cup of coffee sent straight from heaven. I smack my lips greedily as I try to make a grab for the coffee cup on the bedside table emitting divine fumes but all I can manage is a feeble imitation of a hand actually raised.
Why you say? Well, I’m currently lying on a hospital bed barely able to talk let alone raise my hand. I’m proud to say that I’ve brought a new definition to broken bones when I arrived here and by here, I meant the hospital in case you’re confused. From my head down to my toes, I can see and feel bandages and casts wound around my body making me look like a demented mummy.
I try to wiggle my fingers and toes every day since I’ve been here but I can’t even feel them so what’s the point? I have given up doing so a loooong time ago.
Anyways, back to the mysterious cup of coffee. I raise my eyes to it longingly and licked my lips while I tried to imagine the taste of the beverage on my tongue. I can’t even swallow properly and half the time, I rely on the IV on my arm to keep me nourished. That’s how badly banged up I am.
I let out a defeated sigh and cursed the unknown person who I think is trying to kill me with the coffee. Did I mention that I have A LOT of conspiracy theories? Well I do. Surprise!
Since the coffee is a no go, I might as well go ahead and bore you to the same state that I’m in with my ghastly and amazingly dreadful life story.
I think about Physics not because I love the subject but because it reminds me of Newton’s Laws. I particularly remember one which says that an object at rest remains at rest unless acted on by an outward force. I’m not a nerd but I do listen to class discussions so try not to be that surprised.
I laugh mercilessly every time the irony of the situation hits me. Me, the girl who knows 170 ways to kill a person with a ball of paper and 99 ways with a sock but can’t even move now if need be.
I know. I’m pretty resourceful when the situation calls for it. Maybe that’s why my martial arts instructor liked me more than the others. I almost killed a 19 year old opponent at the tender age of 8.
I stiffen immediately when I heard the doorknob rattle and desperately look around the room for something to protect myself with but alas, even if I can reach the remote control on the bed, I’ll be burdened down by the kilos of plaster on my body. Curse those doctors of mine! Do I look like a ship anchor to them?
“Honey? Are you awake?” A female voice sounded from outside the room and I relaxed and adjusted my head on the pillows. I made a gurgling sound much like a caveman’s snort and thanked the Lord above that my mother can understand me.
“I bought cookies!” She announced excitedly with an extra flourish of her hands.
Ah, here comes my mother in a casual looking dress and 5 paper bags of what I guess are the cookies. She had finally managed to open the door but not without further struggles from her part, which made me wonder about the quantity of cookies she bought.
Mother, the woman who brought me to Earth with uncountable shouts and pushes, looks quite contented and happy with life though that has changed a bit this past month. I’m even surprised that her reproductive organ has returned to normal after it’s been through so much by letting little ol’ me pass through.
She’s quite nice if you’re on her good side and quite nasty when you’re on her bad side but most people usually fall on the neutral part much like the Switzerland in her brain.
“Hi Finola!” She said and took her sweet time arranging the bags of food around the bed and on top of the coffee table. I hate it when my mother calls me that, it makes her sound like she’s announcing that I’m a product like granola and whatsitsname oil. It gives people the wrong impression and I roll my eyes at her. She pats my hand affectionately and took a seat beside the bed while simultaneously grabbing a cookie from one of the packages. She broke off a teeny tiny piece and I stare at it expectantly, awaiting its ascent towards my awaiting mouth. The 2 centimeter reached my mouth in about, oh let’s say 0.16 seconds and I close my mouth greedily on it.
The next thing that happened though was something that I was expecting at the back of my mind but still took me unaware. Soon after my swallow, my body shook involuntarily with the force of the food coming back up and my feeble tries of keeping it in. My mother, seeing the sudden movement and understanding quickly like most mothers that I was about to puke. She held on to my body securely and turned me to my side until I caught sight of the sick bucket on the floor and then I puked my guts out.
Nah, I was just messing with you. I didn’t puke my intestines out because that I impossible to do. Trust me, I know.
“Are you okay?” Mother asks quietly, her cheery bravado gone now. I nod my head slowly, willing the headache to go away.
She arranged me back onto the bed comfortably and fussed around the room cleaning things up while I, I looked outside the huge glass wall that served as the window and wondered if dying people also felt this way; that time was flying so fast that they’re afraid to even blink because they might miss a second of their life.