Drive D: does not exist...

As I slowly regained consciousness, I struggled to come to terms
with my surroundings. There seemed to be an awful lot of steam and
unless I missed my guess, that would be blood oozing down my face
towards my outstretched tongue. It would, from the amount of pain that
I am now in and the wreckage surrounding me, seem that I have been in
some form of accident. Although, to be honest, I have no recollection
of stepping into a car and to make matters more confusing yet, I cannot
even drive. And yet, here I sit with the better part of my limbs jammed
amongst the twisted metal of a Xantia which has injured a once proud
tree, forced to give birth to some matchwood. A tiny scream issues from
deep within me. On further inspection, I find it actually emitted from
a mobile phone which has been crushed beneath me. I don't know who the
person on the other end of the line is, but however unlikely it may
seem, they are having a worse time than I am.

This is the point in the proceedings where the public tend to come
along and make things alot worse, by offering conflicting first aid
advice. "Don't move him" or "Support his head," I wonder how they will
try to injure me this time. Maybe someone will offer me a cigarette and
decrease my life by five minutes... Maybe, there's only five minutes
left. The evening sky is now dancing with the wonderful blue lightning
of the emergency services. I feel quite calm now, even though I know
that I am at the tender mercies of the police, fire and ambulance men.
I will be tested and found wanting, for although I am not drunk, I am
quite incapable of driving this or any other car. I have no memory of
stealing it, nor do I know why I would do such a thing.

I feel dizzy. I have some form of artificial respirational equipment
clamped to my face and it feels like I'm walking around in Mother's
high heeled shoes, eight years old and curiously proud of my new found
height. My white and crimson shirt is wide open and someone is pushing
hard on my chest. It's more than a little presumptuous and maybe he
thinks he's helping, but I wish he'd stop and let me carry on dreaming.
It's very disturbing.

It's amazing to be lying here, at the very epicentre of attention and
all I have to do to win the admiration of my audience is to take one
unaided breath. I don't know whether or not I am up to the task, but my
public awaits. The longer I leave it, the less I actually feel like
obliging them, and maybe they don't want a happy ending to this
tale.

I feel I have come a long way, and I am suddenly quite fatigued. Both
my eyes are closed and yet, up until now, I never realised that I had a
much sharper third eye. I have seen the world around me so much clearer
since my world became more painful, and two minutes can be a lifetime
to a broken man. I know that if I close this third eye, I will never
open it again... But, I am very sleepy so maybe just for a
minute,
I'll...