My friend Grace. My gorgeous, hilarious, carpet combing, Manchester talking friend Grace. I miss her. At first it did not seem real, as if she'd just gone on another of her holidays or vanised on another of her crazy drug binges.... but no. Grace. Silly bloody Grace... forgot the fucking green cross code.
My friend Grace is lying in a hospital bed, in more of a state than she's ever been in before. I should have been there, I should have stopped it, but no. That car... went right fucking over her.
I wasn't even there but I feel so angry, so powerless. Why could that not be stopped? And her family is praying for her, blind to the fact that it was their fucking 'God' who, despite his supposed omnibenevolence, let this happen to their daughter, Perri's lush girlfriend, Alan's weird philosophy student, my brilliant friend Grace.
Sometimes being a realist is hard work. It means no prayer, no superstition, no way of altering the truth. Just waiting. Waiting for her to be ok.
Come on Grace.
Please.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
My friend Grace is lying in a hospital bed, in more of a state than she's ever been in before. I should have been there, I should have stopped it, but no. That car... went right fucking over her.
I wasn't even there but I feel so angry, so powerless. Why could that not be stopped? And her family is praying for her, blind to the fact that it was their fucking 'God' who, despite his supposed omnibenevolence, let this happen to their daughter, Perri's lush girlfriend, Alan's weird philosophy student, my brilliant friend Grace.
Sometimes being a realist is hard work. It means no prayer, no superstition, no way of altering the truth. Just waiting. Waiting for her to be ok.
Come on Grace.
Please.
