100 days: Day 42



‘Ahhhhhhh bugger!’ garbled the man, called… Raymond, as he tripped over a clump of protruding top soil, down he went into a graceless tumble that resulted a bad knock to the knee and litany of what he’d refer to as ‘Ungodly Words’. Good thing he has no neighbours, was his immediate thought. A large chunk of mud clung to his open sandal, when manically shaking his ankle about returned no results and for fear of detaching his limp gelatinous calf muscle (which unnervingly made the sound of a half full hot water bottle being jostled about as he shook it), he resorted to kneeling to remove it by hand. As he picked the mud from between his toes it occurred to him that one of them was missing – one of his toes. It didn’t seem as if he’d injured himself, it hadn’t broken off, it’d disappeared, no blood or marks or anything along those lines, simply no toe, no toe not sitting in a void where he was convinced there had previously been an unremarkable toe. Hadn’t there? Had he knocked it into his foot? Is that even possible? Had he dreamt of the toe? Was he the kind of man that would dream of a toe? Is there a kind of man that would dream of a toe, is that even a way to categorise people? His mind was bubbling over with questions, each one moving further off topic, each one not really answerable. His head began to pound and so it was time for a sit down accompanied by the intermittent checking his toeless gap. Still no toe.

It never came back. Every so often he goes and retraces his steps, albeit with a bit of a limp, but nothing. He’s come to terms with it, but doesn’t quite know where to place it. Mentally.

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