The Realization is Scarier than the Story

One day, while I was crossing the street to get to the bus stop after work I was almost run down by a transport truck. Now, this was somewhat of a normal occurrence at this street; it was a four lane intersection right next to the mall, and to be honest where I live has the highest concentration of bad drivers in Canada. After almost being hit by a car once already, and been privy to an accident or two in the three months before (just at this intersection), I had become more aware of my surroundings.

 Anyways, it hadn't been a particularly good day for me, and it didn't help that my co-worker decided to be particularly bitchy to me (she was always a bitch but I mostly took it in jest since it was either jokingly towards me, or not about me at all). With the last six hours from hell only adding to my headache and stress, I wasn't really paying attention as I crossed the turning lane to get to platform to cross the street. I do remember seeing no cars and starting to cross, but a very loud honk made me look up.

I paused, nearly in the middle of the street as an 18 wheeler came speeding towards me. I stepped back out of the way and held my breath as the truck passed by. I then finished crossing the two streets to get to my bus stop.

It was on the ride home that I had a terrifying realization.

I wasn't scared.

The fact that the truck could have turned me into street pizza didn't scare me. I don’t want to die and I don’t wish to die, but I realized that given the situation- if I had been hit and not died instantly- I probably wouldn't fight to hold on.

So to this day I walk the extra five minutes to the Bus terminal to avoid that intersection. I didn't enjoy the feeling of content I had with dying; it scared me more than the thought of actually dying.

When my time comes, it comes I suppose.