September Rain
Page 54
by A.R. Rivera
58
-Angel
I'm awake.
I'm awake?
Shit.
There is a gigantic pulsing pain streaking from my forehead to my neck.
Shitty shit!
And the doctor is convinced I need to see it.
After a cursory glance at the enormous knot protruding over my right eye, I drop the handle of the mirror.
He rattles on about my "intraparenchymal hemorrhage with contusions." Or some idiot crap like that.
I could not care less if I wanted to.
It's useless.
I'm useless.
A complete failure.
Shit. Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Shitty-shit.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.