Three Steps

I was eating a Rolo when it happened. I haven’t eaten one since and the sight of them makes me feel sick. Don’t bother leaving me your last one because I’ll throw it straight in the nearest bin.

I look more than twice when crossing the road now. Sometimes I don’t cross at all. I know the shops on the east side of Osmond Street really well.

Some people stare at me. They don’t realise they’re doing it. I can see the question in their mind, Why? People always clock my walking stick before they look me in the face. It’s the first thing they notice. In their mind it’s what defines me. It’s always what they remember.

It took three steps for me to not be able to walk unaided ever again. Simple, unimportant steps happily enjoying a mouthful of Rolos that could have led to nothing. Three hurried steps across what for one step was an empty street, for two steps was a road with a car speeding around the corner, and three for impact.



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