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They Stole It From Me
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TITLE (EDIT)
They Stole It From Me
DESCRIPTION
A moment stolen; one which could have answered all that I needed to know; a moment which having could have changed the way I am now.

A regret which never will be settled until the moment comes again.
[960 words]
TITLE KEYWORD
Mind
AUTHOR
Peter Izdebski
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I'd love to describe myself however nothing comes to mind. Actaully, as a matter of fact, too much comes to mind. Have you ever had a box of puzzle pieces and spilled them on the table only to begin with the corners? I am that which is in the center. The only problem is that I haven't even assembled my corners yet.
[October 2002]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
A Friend (Short Stories) I was like clay, so soft and yellow. I listened and followed because I didn't know that I could talk and lead. This is one of those times. [917 words]
The Thinker (Poetry) - [118 words]
The Way I Am (Non-Fiction) The title of my story is The Way I Am. It's something I sat down and wrote over a few days. I took it out of my dreams. The scenarios and situations are all dreams. It's a glimpse into what makes ... [4,592 words]
They Stole It From Me
Peter Izdebski

They stole it from me...

I never thought that a feeling or moment could be stolen until one was from
me. Taken without any consideration, under the guise of love and caring.
Snatched so professionally from under my nose that it took days before I
knew it was gone for good.

Laying in that bed was supposed to be frightening however I cherished the
moments. An IV in my arm looked serious but for me it was a constant
reminder of how close I came to it, the end. I spend my days there with my
chest shaven in spots so the sensors could stick to my skin, listening to the
man in the bed beside me curse life one minute and the next call for the
nurse to wipe his behind from the filth which made him gag. But not me, I
enjoyed listening to him soil his bed; it was real. When they stuck
the tube in his chest to drain the fluids he sounded like an animal, cursing
and swearing that he'd kill all who touched him again, I however just lay
smiling and listening. For the first time in my life I heard a human so
close to the end of his; and it was fascinating. I wished for him to yell
louder and louder so that I may grasp the full emotion he was trying to
utter. But it came out rough and gurgled, perhaps the way it was supposed
to.

I had the most vivid dreams in that bed. Faced with the possibility of
death I was unexpectedly soothed and uncaring. My mind was at that moment a
sponge taking in every single piece of sensory perception available. I saw
the colours of everything and smelled the smells of all around me. I was
privy to the fluff of dust rolling on the floor and saw expressions on
peoples faces that only the wise claim to see. I knew what everyone was
feeling at the very moment they were feeling it and I loved it. In my state
I was higher and fuller of life than I have ever been before. Nothing
compared and I loved it.

It became clear to me that suffering is the truest of feelings. It can not
be faked. A man at the brink of loosing all he knows is more vulnerable
than a baby amongst a tribe of cannibals. He is at the mercy of something he
cannot touch smell or feel; at any moment he risks being consumed by the end
of his life which is something so awesome and great that it can only be
equated with a god. Perhaps god is simply that, the end of all and the
beginning of nothing. The idea of non-existence is scary to most, perhaps
even to all, and those who do not admit to fright may be fascinated by it.
I am. I am afraid that is, however the scale is tipped towards fascination
so that the fear is only a shadow in the back of my mind blocked by
amazement and a type of anticipation. I can not fool you into believing
anything else.

I cannot equate my words with what I want you to understand so I will ask you to listen carefully to that which comes to my lips and perhaps for a moment you will be able to witness what I felt. There is so much sadness and suffering amongst us. Every where you are to look you will see it and the feeling you feel in response is what defines what you are. Lying in that bed I felt happy. I felt at home amongst the suffering so completely that it became the first time in my life where I actually felt that I belonged. I was one of those who for perhaps the first time in their exaggerated existence felt truth and needed more. I craved it; I needed it. The final answer was so close to me that I could almost grasp it, however the machines were there to make sure I did not. Such irony we have created, such that none compare. Serenity pulsed though my veins despite what was injected into my blood stream and I made a fatal mistake which I can not explain; I shared the moment. I gave it away because it came too easy. I was simply not aware of it at the time that a phone call I was to make would later come back to haunt me. I left a message with my room number and explaining how I ended up there and sure enough my call was answered with a visit. No doubt a smile came over my lips as my visitor sat beside me and expressed his emotion of amazement and sadness and I would be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the attention. But as always, it was not worth it. Soon cards came and more visitors despite my request to keep the situation secret. Memories of happiness and the outside came through my door with cards and flowers and oh how I was happy to see that I mattered to some. My moment of truth was robbed; simply by my ego.

MY moment, my experience, the only thing I ever had which mattered and was truly only mine and no one else’s was taken from me. I was robbed of something more valuable than gold, silver, love or life. I was robbed of the answer to the question which has been plaguing me before then and till now; never will I know now how it would be if I was not. If I was not there, never been and never was to be, what difference would it make?

I will never know.

 

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2002 Peter Izdebski
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
October 2002
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1819
 

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