His heart was racing, at least a million times per second. His entire body felt like it was covered with a six foot layer of cement. As he reached out to grab ahold of something, anything, his hands flapped wildly. There wasn’t anything to touch. There wasn’t anywhere. He struggled to breathe, anxiety and the unknown stole his ability to calm his mild.
Every wild Friday night in the country, by the river… Drinking Hennessy and playing to close to the fire.. Every fight he had with his stepfather, about the abuse his mother took, every cigarette break, in the ally behind the tavern. All the moment he screamed from his surpassed anger, inflamed rage, and vulnerable broken heart flashed before his eyes.
” What on earth is this nonsense?”, he asked himself. ” How did I get here, and where am I going?.”
“This fall has to stop eventually”, he continued, ” but when and where?”
Everest was a strong and resilient young man. He had just celebrated his 25th birthday a few days ago, and that’s the last thing he remembered.
“It is not the the bruises on the body that hurt. It is the wounds of the heart and the scars on the mind.”
― Aisha Mirza