unbelievable number of nerves in the hands. He couldn’t sleep without drugs. He couldn’t think or even breathe properly. Each time his pills wore off, he’d break into a cold sweat. Just the thought of the pain was enough to terrify him. He was a walking drugstore, a junkie with a doctor’s prescription. He felt like an old man and he was only nineteen.
“John lost. Tyler got off. John had plenty of evidence, but he couldn’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Tyler had lowered the prongs. Certainly, they were in the proper place when the police examined them three days after the accident. John was also hurt by the fact that he had to admit tampering with the machinery without permission. No one cared that his tampering could have saved the company lots of money. It was even insinuated that his adjustment of the conveyor belt had something to do with his losing his fingers.
“When John’s lawyer lost the first round, he wasn't interested in pursuing the second. John had to hustle to look for another lawyer, but couldn't find one. The bakery company offered to settle with him – ten thousand dollars if he would just sign a piece of paper – but to John that was a mere pittance. He told them to take a hike. He had been crippled. He’d never be able to hold a normal job again. They owed him a million. They owed him justice. They owed him something for God’s sake.
“But all he received was pain. It's a wicked life – the life of constant pain. Some say emotional pain is worse, but those same people usually have nothing physically wrong with them. It was hard to say which was more difficult for John, the days or the nights. Each day it was hard to do the simplest of things – like getting dressed or opening a can or a bottle. Then he had to cope with the fact that he had a deformity that people stared at. That was particularly hard for John because he took pride in his looks. He’d go into a store and people would follow him with their eyes. Even when they weren’t following him, he thought they were. If he hadn’t been paranoid before, he was now. His self-esteem was wrecked. He couldn't even flirt with a girl anymore. He worried that when he did see Candy again, she'd find him repulsive. He got so he never went outside without bandaging up his right hand, even when he no longer needed the bandages.
“Nights were equally hard. The effect of his pills only lasted three hours at most. He could never sleep the night through without getting up to take something. It was rare when he slept more than three hours. He’d turn over the wrong way and brush his hand and it would be enough to send pain shooting up his arm. Sometimes he didn’t even have to move. He’d just lie there and the hand would throb – the severed fingers would, too, and they weren’t even there anymore. Talk about phantom pain. John had demon pain. It was as if something had possessed him. He would lie flat on his back at night, sweat, and think about how his life had gone so wrong. That was all he thought about.
“He was on disability for a while but that ran out. Then he was broke. His case against the bakery began to drag on. When they realized he had no legal representation, they withdrew their offer of ten thousand dollars. Now he needed to sue them to get money out of them, but he couldn't afford to sue. He still couldn’t find a lawyer. Part of the reason was his temper. He would walk into a lawyer’s office and immediately start raving about how unfair the whole world was. The lawyers thought they could never put this guy up on the stand – he would bury himself.
“He tried getting another job but couldn’t find one. He had no real skills, except as a mechanic, and with his injury that was out of the question now. He couldn’t even work in an office. He couldn’t write left-handed, or even open an envelope. But, once more, he was his own worst enemy while he was trying to find new employment. He didn’t get a job
“John lost. Tyler got off. John had plenty of evidence, but he couldn’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Tyler had lowered the prongs. Certainly, they were in the proper place when the police examined them three days after the accident. John was also hurt by the fact that he had to admit tampering with the machinery without permission. No one cared that his tampering could have saved the company lots of money. It was even insinuated that his adjustment of the conveyor belt had something to do with his losing his fingers.
“When John’s lawyer lost the first round, he wasn't interested in pursuing the second. John had to hustle to look for another lawyer, but couldn't find one. The bakery company offered to settle with him – ten thousand dollars if he would just sign a piece of paper – but to John that was a mere pittance. He told them to take a hike. He had been crippled. He’d never be able to hold a normal job again. They owed him a million. They owed him justice. They owed him something for God’s sake.
“But all he received was pain. It's a wicked life – the life of constant pain. Some say emotional pain is worse, but those same people usually have nothing physically wrong with them. It was hard to say which was more difficult for John, the days or the nights. Each day it was hard to do the simplest of things – like getting dressed or opening a can or a bottle. Then he had to cope with the fact that he had a deformity that people stared at. That was particularly hard for John because he took pride in his looks. He’d go into a store and people would follow him with their eyes. Even when they weren’t following him, he thought they were. If he hadn’t been paranoid before, he was now. His self-esteem was wrecked. He couldn't even flirt with a girl anymore. He worried that when he did see Candy again, she'd find him repulsive. He got so he never went outside without bandaging up his right hand, even when he no longer needed the bandages.
“Nights were equally hard. The effect of his pills only lasted three hours at most. He could never sleep the night through without getting up to take something. It was rare when he slept more than three hours. He’d turn over the wrong way and brush his hand and it would be enough to send pain shooting up his arm. Sometimes he didn’t even have to move. He’d just lie there and the hand would throb – the severed fingers would, too, and they weren’t even there anymore. Talk about phantom pain. John had demon pain. It was as if something had possessed him. He would lie flat on his back at night, sweat, and think about how his life had gone so wrong. That was all he thought about.
“He was on disability for a while but that ran out. Then he was broke. His case against the bakery began to drag on. When they realized he had no legal representation, they withdrew their offer of ten thousand dollars. Now he needed to sue them to get money out of them, but he couldn't afford to sue. He still couldn’t find a lawyer. Part of the reason was his temper. He would walk into a lawyer’s office and immediately start raving about how unfair the whole world was. The lawyers thought they could never put this guy up on the stand – he would bury himself.
“He tried getting another job but couldn’t find one. He had no real skills, except as a mechanic, and with his injury that was out of the question now. He couldn’t even work in an office. He couldn’t write left-handed, or even open an envelope. But, once more, he was his own worst enemy while he was trying to find new employment. He didn’t get a job
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