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leave me. The vision of my sweet, little, tousled-haired blonde boytjie crying out in fright
and pain haunted me; those wide, innocent, sky blue eyes that always reflected so much fun
and laughter now streamed with large heartbroken tears. My God, what had I done? What
sort of monster was I?
I drove down to the Brass Bell and sat at a table alone staring out to sea. What a terrible
day it had been, and what must I now do to save my life? At twelve the last call echoed
around the room. I stood up uncertainly, gathering my keys and wallet. I was quite drunk,
especially since I had been drinking on an empty stomach.
I lurched unsteadily out onto the station platform in the crisp, cold night. I tried to remem-
ber where I had parked my truck and walked about for some time before I stumbled upon
it. Stabbing away with the keys, I managed to open the door and almost fell into the seat. I
sat awkwardly thus for a few moments as I recollected where I was and what it was that I
was about to do. I had to drive back to the yacht club where my boat was hauled out on dry
land outside my workshop. I jabbed away at the ignition and managed to slip the key in.
I fired up the motor and shot off down the main road through sleepy hamlet of Fish Hoek
towards Simon's Town and to the boat. It became increasingly difficult to focus on all the
white lines in the middle of the narrow, little road. I remember thinking how I should have
known better and to have refused that last glass of red wine, but I had not.
There was not a car or a soul around, as it was late and a week night at that. I was driving in
what I thought was the left hand lane. I was traveling too fast for this small town. Suddenly,
in front of me appeared the rear end of a truck, similar to the one I was driving. I remember
thinking, what the hell was it doing in the middle of the road? Suddenly, it was all too late,
and I slammed into the back of this vehicle at over fifty miles an hour. I was not wearing
a seat belt and was thrown limply about the cab like a rag doll. Fortunately, I was almost
paralytic with alcohol and was relaxed enough not be get too injured. I stared out ahead of
me in disbelief. I had cracked the windshield with my head. The whole of my truck hood
had been driven in like an accordion. Comically, I tried to start the stalled engine. There
was just a whining sound and clouds of oily, white smoke escaped from under the crumpled
hood. I threw open the door with the intention of pushing the truck home; I knew I had to
get away as soon as possible.
I was stunned at the devastation I had caused, not only to my truck: I had completely
knocked off the entire back tray of the truck I had hit and had pushed it at least one hundred
feet forward through a solid brick garden wall, which now lay on its side and in pieces.
The owner of the house and truck was now standing silently on the pavement surveying the
battle scene as if in a dream. I was close to the harbor now, and I began running toward the
boats, beyond caring at this point. I finally reached where my boat stood high, quiet, and
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