roger smith
�Stand back. Don�t touch him for fuck�s sake! Stand back!�
I can feel myself slipping, losing ground, can feel myself. Dying. I was always dying, from the moment I was born I was dying, but now. More so. The smell of the hard tarmac, the sounds of footsteps, shouts, screams. It�s not me screaming.
�Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!�
I can see my shopping from here, the frozen pizza and the Pedigree Chum, just lying there. I should have bought more dog food last week. It was stupid to run out like that. Stupid. Scraping out the last of the can, using cornflakes as mixer. A woman in white heels, scuffed, cheap looking things, runs over, kicking the shopping and sending the tins rolling across the road, bouncing away from her tasteless stilettos.
�Oh my God!� She says, as the tins roll into the gutter. �Oh my God!�
Stupid cow. My shopping.
�It�s Ok mate, you�ll be Ok.�
He�ll be pawing at the door just now. I should have fed him yesterday, it was so stupid to run out like that.
�Dog food.�
�What�s that? Listen! He�s speaking. Don�t worry mate, hang in there.�
�Dog food.�
�Don�t worry, the ambulance is on the way.� The man with the brown shoes stands up again, taking charge. He�s not a medical doctor, but he sure knows how to shout. �Jesus Christ! Stand back! Give him some room!�
It�s curious the sense of distance. It�s just like they say it is. All this is happening to someone else. It�s not my blood on the road there.
It�s my blood on the road.
�That�s it mate just hang in there, everything�s going to be Ok. Where�s that fucking ambulance? He�s dying for fuck�s sake! Where�s that ambulance?�
No-one will miss me. That much is a comfort, I�d hate for anyone to miss me. Just Digger. Just loyal little Digger who�s not been fed in two days. Just loyal little Digger. I can hear sirens in the distance. High pitched electronic noises, like a car alarm or one of those key-rings you used to get.
�Thank fuck! It�s Ok mate, hold on you�ll be Ok.�
If I go to hospital, if I die, who�ll feed my wee Digger? It might take days.
�Digger.�
�What�s that mate? Shut up, I can�t hear him. What did you say mate?�
�Digger.� Nothing comes out. The word dies in my throat. Dies.
Brown shoes leans closer.
�Digger.� I say again. It�s an effort. An effort. I�m.
Brown shoes is confused, his huge face furrowed.
�No mate,� he says, his features blurring, �it was a bus.�
It�s the last thing I hear.
