Let me forget that red, red shoe

20 08 2010

They say everything in life happens for a reason, although the why thereof is not necessarily evident.

That said, I strongly believe that rules of the road have been set up for good reasons – like keeping people alive and safe. But oh, the bitter results of the saying that ‘rules are meant to be broken’…

When my Significant Other came to pick me up from work yesterday, the traffic was absolute murder. We were backed up pretty far, and none of the lanes seemed to be moving. A bit further on one of the electronic notice boards informed us that we should expect delays as an accident had occurred, resulting in the closing of two lanes. My mind kept trying to come up with possible scenarios that necessitate the closure of two lanes: car crash, truck tipped over… stuff like that. What actually happened dropped a lead weight in the pit of my stomach.

The first thing I saw was a shoe (funny how seconds between noticing horrible things seem to stretch out for what feels like hours) – a pretty, red sandal with a slight heel lying on its side in the middle of the road, almost as if someone had kicked if off nonchalantly. Next cam the bag of oranges, some of its contents spilled across the road in a trail of clues leading you to the scene of the crime. They didn’t seem squished to me; it merely seemed like someone had dropped the bag, and that a few oranges had rolled out of their own accord. Nothing extraordinary, just part of your average, run-of-the-mill day (it’s not uncommon for things to adorn our roads like embellishments or glitter on a funky shirt).

Yes, the traffic had been murder… literally (although I suppose ‘accidental manslaughter’ is closer to the truth). There, under a pure white sheet lay a form – a body, a corpse, a no-longer-among-the-living human being. Most probably a woman, the red shoe is evident of that. Absolutely horrible (although no blood could be seen on the scene). What made it more horrible for me as the day progressed is the fact that, but an hour later, I saw a pair of shoes on a poster that looked almost exactly like the one lying on the N1, separated from its mate in lonely isolation. Why did the woman find herself in a position where it was necessary for her to walk/run across the busy highway? What was she thinking? And what happened to the person who ran her over, since he/she was nowhere to be found between the fire truck and police vehicles? How must something like this weigh on your conscious? God, it’s so awful

And what about the woman’s family? What will happen to them? How long will they wait and wonder where their mother/wife/sister/cousin/niece (and friend) is? Will they expect the worst?

Life gave her oranges – and the results of her decision led her to her end.

Since I’m currently busy reading the DARK TOWER series (currently busy with book 4), I couldn’t help but think back to the scene where Jake dies and gets transported into Roland’s world for the first time. He dies while crossing the road… And then, naturally, I started thinking how it would be if this woman had, perhaps, crossed over to another plain and found herself in a different world – a flight of fancy (and fantasy), I know, yet you cannot blame me. Seems like my mind is preoccupied with that Tower, and where things will lead the gunslinger and his friends. But despite my ‘natural instinct’ to see a real life incident and transpose a story idea on it, I still feel slightly mortified (if that’s the word I’m looking for) for doing such a thing. What does that say of me? Am I a wishful thinker? Do I believe in other worlds and a life beyond what we have here? I don’t think so… but, in my version, at least the woman gets a second chance to live.

Something that never happens. One mistake or incident that can never be changed.

And that is the uncertainty and precariousness of life, my dear readers. Be wise, and keep your lessons (what you’ve learnt, rules, etc.) in mind. Sorry for being so morbid. I just cannot seem to get the image of the red shoe out of my mind. Perhaps if I write about it, the image will start to fade and move to the back of my subconscious, into the pool of ‘forgotten’ things, to linger there until some force deems it fit to dredge it up and remind me of it once more.

I’m surprised I didn’t have a dream/nightmare about it last night.




One response

1 09 2010

hi there hows it going

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