They make me wear a gown.
A white gown if we are being specific.
My breathing fogs against the machine, and they they tell me to count back from ten.
"Ten. Nine. Eight . . ."
My eyes drape black. I feel everything and nothing all at once. The black that overwhelms me seems to be an empty one. Lonely.
Then there is a faint image.
A red bike.
I see a red bike with a large basket draping the handlebars. I see frizzy black hair hidden beneath a bicycle helmet that is far too large. I see blood running down smooth, caramel skin from the knee.
There's a man.
He's running towards the girl on the bike. He has a bottle in his hand and nearly stumbles into the bushes every other step. I see that he also has caramel skin; although, his is rough, coated in scars and callouses.
The girl is crying.
And the man . . . he's trying so hard to reach her.
The girl keeps pedaling.
Faster.
This man seemingly enough stumbles over again . . . and again.
He can't seem to catch her.
So, by default, she is escaping.
Why is she escaping?
The last image I see is the man throwing the bottle and glass shattering everywhere, all across the pavement.
And then I think, she doesn't deserve that.