Thin lines

The thin line between life and death is both the pulse and the ability to percieve impulses. Once those two criticeria has been reached (breached), you are safely dead. Dead, men. Gone. Gone too soon, at least that’s what your obituary would read if your family is decent enough to get you one. But that point has been reached more than once by most, if not all, of us. That critical point where a little more effort would shortput you into the oblivion. Trust me, I know.
I have been there too. More than once. Even recently. Precisely a week ago, I was driving on Campus. I had just completed my exams. And I had passed. But the backlog of sleep and sleep deprivation made my eyes heavy, or what it the undue stress and excessive joggling my system had suffered in the recent past? I don’t know. But I was driving, and then a blackout. OR is it sleep? Whatever, I just slipped.
In that second my car rammed into a traffic light and an electric light pole, which I eventually lifted. I touched the line. But I was restrained. By prayers of my mum and my loved ones. The prayers that had made me use my seat belt, a rare occurrence at 6 am, a time I thought I was far from danger’s gaze. The seatbelt saved my life. Like it did save kayne west’s life and for that aint I grateful? I am. I thank God and my loved ones who for the past days have placed restraining order on my movement. No doubt there are lessons learnt—don’t push yourself too hard—and prices to be paid like I have been reduced from four legs to two, but am grateful, grateful for the experience, grateful for the divine intervention which makes it possible for me to not to have crossed that thin line.