Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

May 23, 2019, 11:08:36 AM
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

Login with username, password and session length
This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
Pages: [1]
Author Topic: SKID - Object writing July 19  (Read 860 times)
0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.
Hero Member
Posts: 2115

View Profile WWW
« on: July 19, 2008, 12:59:01 AM »

Out of controllness, the back wheel of my bike on a dirt track, just tailing out a little too far. I feel it start to loose grip. I start to compensate, but it still falters as if I am on ice without skates. I am an astronaut in free fall. Hands gripping tight into the rubber  stays of the handlebars that seem to be reflecting my panic in brilliant chrome, the panic that is a screaming pteradactyl in my mind because this is not fixable.

A moment of suspended time as the bike collapses and I am in mid air - I am weightless, a hot air balloon in the breeze of time, for just a nanosecond, just one superstring theory moment, before all the other laws of physics come into play. I am flying, flying forward as the crumpled bike disintegrates into the road with a clang of screeching metal and dust as I will be in another nano second.... I will be eating dirt, tasting the dryness of the dirt, stones puncturing my skin, gravel sandpapering me, cloth shredding.

I brace for impact... shoulder first, I hear a soft cracking sound and I imagine it's my collar bone no pain yet, then life comes back to full speed and I tumble over a few times turning into a rag doll heap. No-one's seen this, no-one knows. I'm lying on the path immobile and shaken as the hot knives of pain start to serate my nerve endings, straight to the brain, cries and screams of agony as I try to stand up. No broken leg or arm, but just this pain , hammer and anvil pain in my left shoulder, the whole arm week and floppy a wet dishcloth arm hanging limp. I struggle toward our rear lane and limp into the kitchen.

Pages: [1]
Jump to: