The Day I Didn’t Die

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By Richard A Shury

It isn’t like you think it’ll be. For me, there was only a steel scream, a flash of colour, and nothing.

And then the long, lonely ache.

Sterile rooms, pale greens and blues. Cards and flowers, and people who melted away.
You never think you’ll have to learn to walk again, or figure out a knife and fork, or how a toilet works. But here I am.

This is just one of the days after, the day I didn’t die.

           
“I write because it hurts when I stop, because I am compelled to, both by the voices in my head and those outside it.” – the writer

One thought on “The Day I Didn’t Die

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