“The clang of a spiked metal hammer falling with a thud on the pelvis, with jarred edges piercing the bone and grappling on. The breathing soon becomes shallow and all motor function dies down until it is feasible to recalculate it and edge forward a few micro-movements, calculating every nuance of the body’s movement. On a good day, it feels like the muscles overlying the thoracic spine are being carefully, meticulously dissected with only the tip of a triangulated scalpel. On not so good days, the muscles are ripped apart with bare hands and without a care or concern of the well placed anatomy, each structure is torn out, discarded…until the prized possession is in view, the bone. Ruthlessly, it is smashed into a hundred pieces, ground amongst shards of glass and scraped at the pit of the physical being.
The cause of pain is not important, in fact, it seldom is. The cause is often a fragment of the prose, a minor detail. The protagonist (or antagonist) is actually the essence of “pain” and its superior ability in taking over your capacity to move, to breathe…to live. Every single day of your life.
This, my friends, is pain…it forms part of one’s existence. Mirroring an ocean, it is deep, it is vast…it has many colours, it has many currents and beyond all, it has many creatures…some meek and mild, and some, purely satanic”.