I watch the amputee kid playing soccer with his folks for like an hour, something about his happiness heckling my wellbeing. He’s got one of those shiny carbon fiber looking prosthetics, like a real athlete. Running around and giggling and celebrating, they all look so well adjusted. Kid can’t even be ten, got his whole life ahead of him and he’s already grappled with horror most people never contemplate. Everything must be easier from there, like growing flowers in manure, beauty born from shit. I envy his tragedy, the worst of my life will always be waiting for me.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.