A Shameful Predicament

My eyes are closed, but still the light from the sun burns through my eyelids. It is uncomfortable, this sparkly, blurry, blackish-red fuzz that I see. I forgot why my eyes are closed…Ah? No, I forgot, but I do know that I’m stuck. Yes, as embarrassing as it is, I am stuck on the concrete at the foot of a small flight of stairs; three steps actually. When I stumbled upon them, literally at that, I was violently struck with unease. “Oh Uncle Sam’s uncle, I doubt I can do these”, I thought. I stood there, swaying for a moment or two, mustering up the courage to surmount them.

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Why worry, though? After all, I had remastered control over my remaining arm and hand, so I should be able to step down these few stairs. Besides, there was no threat of physical injury…well, none that I was able to feel; a reality that I had become acutely aware of after reawakening to myself.

I shuffled my foot toward the precipice of the first stair. At the moment my foot reached out into open air, I realized my courage did not match my body’s ability. I crumpled forward, arms flailing about, unsure of what to do, turning in a desperate attempt to reverse course. My body met the pavement in an anticlimactic thud…then what? Blue. The sky? Oh, I remember. I’m stuck. I can’t stand up. No, I can’t even roll over. I just don’t seem to have the musculature to lift my body up anymore, though I do have the thumb power to type in these words – funny that.

What does that say about me? My first reaction to my fall (was it my first, though?) was to grab the phone I found out of my pocket and type about what happened; intense motor control there that was. But to whom? To myself? I can’t even read what I write. So, why? Someone remember me? Someone notice me? Even if what I write is read, was my fall noteworthy enough to pen down? Well, yes, it was to me. I can’t get up. I need to think about this…is that the moon? What am I doing on the ground? Oh, yes. I fell. Awkward story that.