Anthraxus
11-13-2009, 04:05 AM
The heavy rain made loud splats against the dark fabric of his jacket as he hustled down the side walk towards work. In his right hand he carried the large drink he had just purchased at the gas station, and his left clutched the front of his jacket closed. The zipper had broken the night before when the squall had first begun, and he had not been able to fix it yet. His head was bowed under the dark hood of the jacket as he hurried, thinking that if he had ninja like quickness the raindrops were so heavy and sparse that he would be able to literally step between them.
Suddenly his eyes picked up a delicate speck of white on the soaked grey pavement. He paused and lifted his head, his gaze taking in the blossoming dogwood that was the only tree on this particular street. It seemed as if time slowed and narrowed in on him. He smiled slightly, slowly as he watched a small flower spin open on the nearest branch of the twisted dogwood tree, as if it was the eye of a lover gazing on him in the early dawn of the morning after. He slowly reached his left hand out towards the branch, intent to brush and feel the flower that seemed to open just for him.
His focus was so intent on the beauty before him that he did not notice the bump and squeal of the 1997 Olds Eighty-Eight that hydroplaned on the road behind him and hopped the curb. His attention was snapped away from the flower as the front bumper of the car connected smoothly with the backs of his thighs. The bones snapped jaggedly, the timeline still seeming to run so slow for him that he could see and appriciate the grotesque beauty of their whiteness ripping through the meat of his legs and fabric of his khaki pants. He felt a second bump as his shoulders collided with the top of the car and he flipped, momentarily losing sight of the lovely tree as his vision rolled, gray sky, brown telephone pole, gray pavement. He landed on his chest, the air shoved out of him.
He pushed with his right hand, and rolled over onto his back. He could feel the seeping coldness and fatigue of unconsciousness travel from his blood-jetting legs up through his chest towards his head. A strange calmness stole over him as his eyes seemed to automatically home in on the delicate flower that opened to him mere seconds ago. A large drop of his blood had landed in the center of the flower, causing it to bend down and look at him. As darkness swelled up around him, he focused on the single tear of blood that ran down the bottom petal of the flower and dropped, accompanied by other shed petals of other flowers. Darkness swallowed him, his last sensation the splat of the drop on his lips and the brush of the petals on his eyes.
Suddenly his eyes picked up a delicate speck of white on the soaked grey pavement. He paused and lifted his head, his gaze taking in the blossoming dogwood that was the only tree on this particular street. It seemed as if time slowed and narrowed in on him. He smiled slightly, slowly as he watched a small flower spin open on the nearest branch of the twisted dogwood tree, as if it was the eye of a lover gazing on him in the early dawn of the morning after. He slowly reached his left hand out towards the branch, intent to brush and feel the flower that seemed to open just for him.
His focus was so intent on the beauty before him that he did not notice the bump and squeal of the 1997 Olds Eighty-Eight that hydroplaned on the road behind him and hopped the curb. His attention was snapped away from the flower as the front bumper of the car connected smoothly with the backs of his thighs. The bones snapped jaggedly, the timeline still seeming to run so slow for him that he could see and appriciate the grotesque beauty of their whiteness ripping through the meat of his legs and fabric of his khaki pants. He felt a second bump as his shoulders collided with the top of the car and he flipped, momentarily losing sight of the lovely tree as his vision rolled, gray sky, brown telephone pole, gray pavement. He landed on his chest, the air shoved out of him.
He pushed with his right hand, and rolled over onto his back. He could feel the seeping coldness and fatigue of unconsciousness travel from his blood-jetting legs up through his chest towards his head. A strange calmness stole over him as his eyes seemed to automatically home in on the delicate flower that opened to him mere seconds ago. A large drop of his blood had landed in the center of the flower, causing it to bend down and look at him. As darkness swelled up around him, he focused on the single tear of blood that ran down the bottom petal of the flower and dropped, accompanied by other shed petals of other flowers. Darkness swallowed him, his last sensation the splat of the drop on his lips and the brush of the petals on his eyes.