Читать книгу The Girls Beneath - Ross Armstrong - Страница 9
Оглавление‘Dee. Dah dah dah dee dah, dah dah, dee dah…’
It was a year of miracles. The year I learned how to walk and talk again, the year I met Emre Bartu and the year the girls went missing.
But first came December.
The weekend before my first week as a Police Community Support Officer began. The last week in which my brain’s valleys, ridges, streets and avenues remained in perfect working order.
Back when I thought a lot differently. Before I became ‘Better Than Normal’ as Ryans says. He says that because in some ways I definitely am. Better than you, I mean. No offence.
It’s a Christmas gift that will lie under my brain stem, wrapped in the folds of my cerebellum, romantically lit by my angular and supramarginal gyrus, for the rest of my grateful life.
So let’s go back to the last week when the inside of my skull was anatomically ‘correct’ and aesthetically as it had been since the day I was born.
When my brain functioned as it does for the ‘normals’. The others. The ones devoid of irregularity or uniqueness. No offence.
Before the fractures. Before the accident.
If it was an accident.
