Lucky
"One centimeter higher, and that bullet would've killed you. You're a lucky man!"
John should have felt lucky, just as Bill Murray said. He was alive and he still had the use of his arm. But his subsequent discharge, months of therapy—physical and psychological—the emergence of a psychosomatic limp, and a sense of absolute purposelessness had started him thinking that if he were truly lucky, the bullet would have gone straight through his brain.
Now he picked up his cane, and stuffed it into the back corner of the wardrobe.
Maybe he was a lucky man after all.
Not my favorite drabble, but I decided it was passable enough to stick in this collection...