Friday, 6 November 2009


He lies there, hardly a mark on him. Just a small graze on his forehead. Not much at all. And yet...

And yet, the car windscreen is shattered

And yet, he has a GCS of 4; eyes closed, no verbal response, limbs extending

And yet, when I lift up his eylids, his eyes tell all.

Pupils widely dilated, eyes diverging.

His eyes, windows to the soul, fortellers of death


  1. Powerful bit of writing.

    Sent a chill down my spine...

  2. Nice telling, terrible srory. Kind of kept me grounded after I read it. Thanks, Doc.

  3. I agree, Michael. I sometimes wonder why I tell these ones. In a way, it's my catharsis, a way of dealing with the awful parts of what I do. I guess it's important, too, to be able to have others try to understand what it is like, to peel back someone's eyelids, and know, in your heart, that no matter what you doo the outcome is not going to be good.