He was sitting on a rough cloth. His eyes looked straight ahead at the crowded road. Once upon a time it used to be a challenge, but today this was how his life was. His right hand grabbed the handle and he pushed and pulled the chair’s rubber wheels forward. He could hear the honking of annoyed drivers, who always got on his nerves. He wished he could put on earplugs and block the noise. But that would hinder his already handicapped body in travelling on the road.
So his wheels pushed on, trudging the bumpy tar roads, hugging the edge of the road. With each push and pull on the handle, the chain revolved and turned the wheel. Once upon a time his metallic chair may have been shining, but now it was covered with a thin coat of rough red rust.
His knees throbbed, like a fleeting presence that once was, a shadow throb. He wanted to rub them and make the pain go away, but in the middle of traffic that was not a good idea. He passed by the signal and stopped pedalling with his hands.
He reached down to his knees and his fingers began massaging his knee sockets. The skin felt rough and hard. Phantom limbs that’s what it felt like, that’s what it always felt like, like phantom legs hanging in the air.
He was not some war hero who had lost his legs, he was just a fool who had decided to cross the tracks.
And now both his legs were gone.
After a minute of massaging, the throbbing reduced and though it did not wholly vanish, he pulled up his hand.
He put his hands to the pedal and continued pushing and pulling, moving his chair-cycle forward.
So his wheels pushed on, trudging the bumpy tar roads, hugging the edge of the road. With each push and pull on the handle, the chain revolved and turned the wheel. Once upon a time his metallic chair may have been shining, but now it was covered with a thin coat of rough red rust.
His knees throbbed, like a fleeting presence that once was, a shadow throb. He wanted to rub them and make the pain go away, but in the middle of traffic that was not a good idea. He passed by the signal and stopped pedalling with his hands.
He reached down to his knees and his fingers began massaging his knee sockets. The skin felt rough and hard. Phantom limbs that’s what it felt like, that’s what it always felt like, like phantom legs hanging in the air.
He was not some war hero who had lost his legs, he was just a fool who had decided to cross the tracks.
And now both his legs were gone.
After a minute of massaging, the throbbing reduced and though it did not wholly vanish, he pulled up his hand.
He put his hands to the pedal and continued pushing and pulling, moving his chair-cycle forward.
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