Irony by Helen

Ambulatory, ambulation, ambling, gambling, perambulation, ambulance. The words thudded in his head, repetitive, a prayer for salvation keeping time with the siren. Am-bu-lance. If only he could see past the echo of everything he had lost.
“Yes” he had lied as they pinched his toes, “yes, I can feel them, I can feel, I can feel everything.” The masks of relief swam before his eyes. Am-bu-lance, am-bu-lance, am-bu-lance. The maddening wail of a rush to save something already gone. Ambulance, ambulation, perambulation, to amble, to ramble. A bitter litany of impossibilities. He focused on the words, repeating them, keeping thought at bay as the sirens swung his legs towards the hospital.

 

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