sixty second memory.

five seconds after I put the rusty camping hatchet into my foot, and started running through the brush toward the river, all I hear is the "SQuiShSQuish" of my blood filling up the sole contour of my Birkenstock. I don't feel a second of pain. My main concern is MY BLOOD. I exclaim to my ex-boyfriend: "TED! THIS IS BAD. REALLY BAD. I'M LOOSING A L O T OF BLOOD!".

That didn't make him feel any better as he was getting ice from the cooler into a bag to PUT MY TOES IN (he said by the sound of it, he thought for SURE I lopped off my toes.)