(no subject)
today was my last day of school. i start a new job tommorrow. i wrote a story. it's called...
Flight of the Wounded Locust
5:36
They said I had five minutes, but that was two minutes ago, and I’m still running. Rain splashes around me in torrents and all I can smell is a light mix of the city and autumn. There’s a woman up ahead with an umbrella and I have no idea if she’s one of theirs so I just keep running. They said to take a right at the statue so I turn and I slip a little but I keep going.
This sort of reminds me of those Indians in Siberia who used to light their houses on fire and climb in. Really, this is no different.
At this point I’m blasting down Poets Walk wishing I could sit here and have a nice evening of it, but the rain batters me like fists so I hardly think this is the weather for it. Here, the branches are leaning over me like arms trying to keep me from going where I have to, but the path curves and I slip going around. My watch says 5:38 as I pitch into the railing and fall into the mud.
I’m scrambling to get up and run but I just feel pain in my left arm and the fingers aren’t moving. It hangs at an odd angle and halfway down my forearm there’s a bone sticking out. This is shock setting in as the rain slows down and the seconds on the watch go fifty-eight, fifty-nine, and then it becomes 5:39 and that’s five minutes.
The shock wears off as I climb over the railing and pain shoots through me like gunshots. I turn the next corner and I know it’s hopeless because my watch turns to 5:40 and I’m one minute late. I see a dark figure crumpled at the end of the walkway and my first thought is; a hobo shouldn’t be out in this rain but I know that it’s not a hobo. I don’t know if she’s severely hurt or worse but either way I can’t face her. Either they’ll find me or they won’t but at this point it doesn’t matter. I’m only going to the hospital long enough for them to set the bone but then I’m gone. I’ll run to fucking Chicago at this point because my watch says 5:45 and she’s still lying there so I turn around and start running.
Flight of the Wounded Locust
5:36
They said I had five minutes, but that was two minutes ago, and I’m still running. Rain splashes around me in torrents and all I can smell is a light mix of the city and autumn. There’s a woman up ahead with an umbrella and I have no idea if she’s one of theirs so I just keep running. They said to take a right at the statue so I turn and I slip a little but I keep going.
This sort of reminds me of those Indians in Siberia who used to light their houses on fire and climb in. Really, this is no different.
At this point I’m blasting down Poets Walk wishing I could sit here and have a nice evening of it, but the rain batters me like fists so I hardly think this is the weather for it. Here, the branches are leaning over me like arms trying to keep me from going where I have to, but the path curves and I slip going around. My watch says 5:38 as I pitch into the railing and fall into the mud.
I’m scrambling to get up and run but I just feel pain in my left arm and the fingers aren’t moving. It hangs at an odd angle and halfway down my forearm there’s a bone sticking out. This is shock setting in as the rain slows down and the seconds on the watch go fifty-eight, fifty-nine, and then it becomes 5:39 and that’s five minutes.
The shock wears off as I climb over the railing and pain shoots through me like gunshots. I turn the next corner and I know it’s hopeless because my watch turns to 5:40 and I’m one minute late. I see a dark figure crumpled at the end of the walkway and my first thought is; a hobo shouldn’t be out in this rain but I know that it’s not a hobo. I don’t know if she’s severely hurt or worse but either way I can’t face her. Either they’ll find me or they won’t but at this point it doesn’t matter. I’m only going to the hospital long enough for them to set the bone but then I’m gone. I’ll run to fucking Chicago at this point because my watch says 5:45 and she’s still lying there so I turn around and start running.