Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Page 19

Rehab Stories: Distortion
David Rutter
My head snaps
To attention
Out of a dead sleep
For a disoriented instant
I cannot figure out
Where I am
Or what I am doing
Then the pain hits
Like a runaway train
With memory dragged
Kicking and screaming
Right behind
I must have passed out
When they broke the third finger
Maybe shortly before
I don’t know which is worse
The sheer agony
Of feeling my bone snap
The sharp, nauseating sound it makes
Or the pulse of pure, blistering terror
That precedes both
God, look at what they’ve done
To my hand
It will never be beautiful again
Then one of their faces
Is mere inches from mine
Screaming obscenities
That strike me
Like a hot punch
“Where is it?"
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