Grief

They say time heals all wounds.

Sadly, I now recognize the triteness of this aphorism.

First of all, deadly wounds never get the opportunity. Particularly severe ones can be permanently debilitating. Even if you learn to live with them, you're forever impaired.

People who've lived through the most traumatic wounds might have something insightful to say about the nature of time and it's ability to heal. Learning to forget is not the same as healing. It's just a coping mechanism that allows you to deal with acute pain.

Those who have experienced true grief no longer take comfort in aphorisms.

'13-Shot’ Frank

The Old West had its deadly gunslingers like 'Wild Bill' Hickok, Wyatt Earp, and Doc Holliday. Then, there were poorer slingers like '13-Shot' Frank. Yes, Frank had lost 13 consecutive fights and had the bullets in him to prove it. Still, he limped on to his 31st birthday.

Doc Jenkins had pulled him through each time, unable to extract a single slug. He was called by Frank's landlord to the bedside.

"Can you keep him alive for a couple more rent payments?"

Was this the end? Doc Jenkins could handle wounds and fractures. But chronic lead poisoning was another matter.

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

Platero And I: Old Skool Bloodbrothers

No doubt you have been wondering, dear Platero, why Stefano keeps spitting on the ground each time we pass his house and I greet him with a slight nod.

We grew up in the same neighborhood and became good friends. Later we went to college in the same city, where we got drunk together and whispered similar sweet words in girls ears. We were convinced the world was at our feet and nothing would ever change that.

But then...the civil war broke out and blood brothers became sworn enemies.

Time heals many wounds, Platero, but clearly not all.From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

The Fall Of The Roman Empire

Frank stumbles down the street in broad daylight. The crisp air helps dull the pain in his wounds. Lightheaded and off balance, he is reminded of late nights in college, wandering drunkenly back to his dorm room. His vision now has the same tunnel focus that causes him to lose sight of his surroundings.

He'd never finished that final essay for History of Rome, but Professor Dutton had allowed him to pass anyway. She'd always liked him. Maybe it was her fault that he'd never learned any discipline.

What a weird thing to remember as he is about to die.

A Minor Transformation That Would Later Be Cited As Evidence Of His Divinity

He woke up from what felt like an intensely deep sleep. His first instinct was to feel his wounds. They were still there, but something felt different. It may not have been a big change, the kind that people would notice, but he was definitely aware of it himself.

He realized it was dark, and he felt his way around and decided he must be in some sort of cave. That's weird. He would have thought they'd have built some kind of tomb or something befitting his celebrity.

Ah, now he recognized what was different. He wasn't dead anymore. Cool.

The Daily Theme from Figment for March 21, 2012

Literature is full of stories about people who wake to find themselves in extreme altered physical states--a man wakes up as a giant insect; a girl grows antlers in her sleep; a poor weaver discovers that his head has been replaced with that of a donkey. But what happens when a person wakes up only slightly transformed? Write a story about a person who wakes one morning with a small physical change--big enough to feel profound to him or her, but subtle enough that it's not immediately apparent to others.