P.S. I'll see you in hell.

Dear Guy Who Stopped, Looked, Stared At Me Briefly, Then Just Kept Effing Walking,

Yes, you were probably wondering why I was lying there, surrounded in scattered possessions, at the bottom of the stairs, struggling to stay conscious. In fact everything turned really green for a minute there, which is kind of weird. I can imagine it looked a little odd to you, the fact that I seemed completely stunned and helpless, UNABLE TO GET UP or even say anything to you. You know, on account of the pain. Which was considerable. But I digress.

I know it was a little late--after midnight, in fact--but I'm wondering what it was about me that looked so particularly dangerous. What about me made you tell yourself, "That girl in the innocuous pink fleece hoodie and the pink Skechers*, the one panting in shock and struggling to get her eyes to come back into focus, is probably just playing me for a fool. Sure, I could help her ... but that's exactly what she WANTS me to do."

And all I could do was look at you wordlessly while you looked at me. My apologies for that. I wasn't thinking clearly. I admit that my first thought on seeing you come around the corner was "Oh, good, someone is coming." But really that's not your problem. I just thought I could use some help is all. Not yours in particular or anything. It's just that I was sort of waiting to see if anyone--by which I mean, not you specifically, so please, carry on with your evening--had heard me. Not that I really had a chance to scream, but still, the bags that had been in my hands went EVERYWHERE, so there was QUITE the clatter! It was almost amusing. I tried to laugh, but apparently you need your spinal cord for that. And my spine had compressed rather abruptly when my feet disappeared from under me and my tailbone hit that first stair--oops, ouchie!--so my central nervous system was rather distracted.

I do apologize for not saying hello. Nearly breaking my neck in a stairwell is no reason to forget my manners. It's just like my parents used to say: if all my friends broke their necks in stairwells and then forgot their manners, would I do it too? No, of course not. My apologies again.

I do need to point something out, though, just for future reference. I know we live in a city and all, and you never know who is out to get you, but this IS a pretty secure building, and I had to open a remote-controlled gate and a security door just to earn the privilege of falling all the way down that particular set of stairs. That's one middle-class stairwell, my friend. Really. No need for alarm.

If you're curious (and I'm sure you are, because you just seemed so INVESTED in the situation), let me reassure you that I did eventually manage to get back to my feet, after several minutes. I didn't even cry until I got all the way up to my floor, and even then it was just a few pitiful sniffles--kind of anticlimactic if you ask me. And the massive headache didn't hit until just a few minutes ago. And I'm sure that eventually, my elbow will stop madly aching. These tingling fingers? Don't sweat it. I can type just fine, as you can see! The sensation is actually rather novel.

Nor am I concerned about my bleeding spine, where the edges of the stairs scraped all the skin off through my clothing as I went sliding on by--the wound is clearly superficial, so don't trouble yourself. I'm fine! Really. Bruises are puffing up all over my body, but who hasn't had a bruise or two, or sixteen? I'm sure you were just in a hurry.

No hard feelings! Not like those stairs! Which were REALLY hard! Heh.

Sincerely,
Schnozz
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*The pink Skechers that are of little use when their soles are slick with rain. Word to the wise.